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Old Good-by's and 
Howdy-do's 



Bv 

John D. Wells 

Author of "Swazv rolks" 



With drawings bv 

Lester J. Ambrose 



Buffalo, N. Y. 
Otto Ulbrich Co. 

191 I 






Copyright, 191 i 

BY 

JOHN D. WELLS 



4, 






OTTO ULBRICH CO.. BUFFALO, N. Y. 



©CU303374 



Go 

MY MOTHER 

THIS LITTLE BOOK OF VERSE 

IS AFFECTIONATELY 

DEDICATED 



AUTHOR'S NOTE. 

To the courtesy of the following publications the author is 
indebted for permission to reprint the verses in this volume : 

Lippincotfs Magazine, Harpers' Weekly, Judge, Delineator, 
Ladies' Home Journal, and Designer. Also to Mr. Edward H. 
Butler, owner and proprietor of the Buffalo Evening News, for 
whose publication many of them were written. 



. . . They are sweet inside. I would 
rather have done them, or have the fine 
inner integrity to have done them — 
than to be Canal-Builder or Master of 
pan- Continental Air-lanes. They restore 
and brighten the deep places. . . . 
And when you put them by, and fall to 
dreaming among the ineffable partings 
and greetings that have been 
stealing away after some pale vision 
or lustrous wing of remembrance . 
pray, don't hurry back, for you may be 
drawing very close to Yourself — the 
Kingdom of Heaven which lies within. 

WILL LEVINGTON COMFORT. 



Vll 



CONTENTS 



AN APPRECIATION 

MY PIPE .... 

DAYTIME IN MAYTIME . 

"AFTERWHILE" . 

APPERTAININ' TO YOUNG 'UNS 

SUNDAY THOUGHTS 

A YOUNG 'UN IN POKEBERRY TIME 

OUR YESTERDAYS . 

A CAVALRYMAN 

OLD GOOD-BYES AND HOWDY-DO 's 

MY EYES AIN'T AS GOOD AS THEY WAS 

CHICK-A-REE CRICK IN PENNSYLVANY 

THE TOWN JOKER 

" M-O-T-H-E-R ! " .... 

MAIRY ELLEN .... 

OLD JIM WADE .... 

A PROTEST ..... 

ix 



PAGE 

I 

3 
5 

7 

9 
io 

12 

13 
15 
17 
19 

20 
22 

23 

25 

27 
29 



Contents 



TEMPTED .... 

HIPPERCRITS 

U JES' ONE STORY MORE" 

TO A LITTLE BOY 

H. SIMMS' S NEW DAUGHTER-IN-LAW 

OL' DOC FOLINSBEE 

BEN TARR ON EDUCATION 

OLD CHUMS RE-UNITED . 

SOME REAL FIDDLI^ 

CALLIN' THE ROLL 

A DAMPER ON DISCIPLINE 

THE EXILE AND THE CITY 

CHRISTMAS CHEER AT HOME . 

FALLTIME IN SWAZY 

THE OLD ROSE DRESS 

FREDERIC REMINGTON . 

'LIGE HAWKINS FIDDLIN' UP YENDER 

THE STREET THAT LEADS TO HOME 

A FACE IN A CROWD 

THE PRICE .... 

A DESERTED CABIN 



Contents 



XI 



SPRING IN THE COUNTRY AND TOWN 

THE ONLY FRIENDS 

THE TWO BARRIERS 

THE MAN WHO USED TO KNOW YOU WHEN YOU 
DID N'T HAVE A CENT 

post-meetin' NIGHT 

ol' tin-peddlin' man . 

the perfect home 

to the halfway house again 

the little things 

the little boy from the poor farm 

the end of the journey 

the exile from home . 

the separation .... 

a job for doc sifers 

"when the big hand points upstairs.' 

the summer evening . 

the lone grave in the shenandoah 

sometime ..... 

defyin' affliction 

a hopeless debtor 



PAGE 
71 

72 

74 

76 

79 

81 

83 

84 

87 
88 

90 

9i 
92 

94 
96 

98 

99 
101 
102 
103 



Xll 



Contents 



PAGE 



HOMESICK . 

TO A CHILD . 

THE LITTLE OLD MAX WITH THE RAGGEDY 

THE CHURCH AT WEBBSES' CORNERS 

WHEN MOTHER 's AWAY 

UNDER THE EVENING LAMP 

TO LITTLE HALF-PAST FOUR 

IN grandpa's EYES 
ma's BOY 
A DREAM 

august days 

the failure 

44 ketchup" 

the void in to-day 

an old man said : 

an old sayin' of mother's 

decoration day at swazy 

"jist about now" 

enforced friendship . 

a sure cure for general debility 

44 tyfoid-blues " .... 



DOLL 



Contents 



xm 



AN ANNIVERSARY 

KITCHEN INTERRUPTIONS 

DIVINE SERVICE 

THE WEARINESS OF CHILDHOOD 

ANALOGY 



PAGE 
144 

146 

147 
149 

151 



Old Good-by's and Howdy-do's 



AN APPRECIATION. 

OL* Home Folks! It 'pears you 're jist 
Happiest an' bizziest 
Fixin' up t' welcome in 
Some one comin' home agin! 
Some ol' codger, like as not, 
That has mebbe plumb fergot 
You — an' folks fergot him too! — 
Ever' one exceptin' you! 

Rassle out his easy chair, 
Put it by the fire there 
Where he used t' set, an' git 
His ol' footstool out an' fit 
Things in same ol' order most 
Like he used t' have 'em, so's't 
When he shucks his boots he kin 
Say: "I jucks, I 'm home agin!" 

01' Home Folks! I tell y' what, 
I 've done heaps o' travellin' but 

i 



.An Appreciation 

Layin' 'side all sorts o* jokes, 
If there 's any class o' folks 
Measure up t' God's idee 
Of what man had orter be — 
Meets requirements through an' through- 
Then, I jucks, that class is you! 



MY PIPE. 

1ASK no better friend, my pipe, than you have been 
to me, 
Or truer one to lean upon in dark adversity; 
When cheer abounds and living teems with love and 

laughter true, 
Of all of those I count my friend I rather smile with 
you. 

The things I like, you too, prefer; how oft youVe 
shown your praise 

When I have left the open road and sought the wood- 
land ways 

Where breezes wave a green baton for singers red as 
flame — 

In music as in other things our taste is much the 
same. 

In books, as well, our loves are like; how pleasantly 
you 've glowed 

As clinging to Mulvaney's hand we 've trod the Bar- 
racks Road, 

Or gone with Field to Sabine Farm and lands of 
"Just Pretend"— 

Whatever faults you have you choose the best of 
books, my friend. 

3 



4 My Pipe 

A life of sweet companionship with not a thing to 

mar — 
No quarrel, words, or differences to leave a single 

scar — 
No poor regrets for what has passed or what our 

futures hold, 
But solace in the thought that we, together, shall 

grow old. 

I always crave your fellowship until the end of day 

When comes the pattering of feet from out the bed- 
room way, 

The time for fun, the time for love, when pudgy hands 
caress — 

The only rivals for my heart that you, my pipe, 
possess. 






DAYTIME IN MAYTIME. 

DAYTIME in Maytime— it holds y' like a fetter! 
Every day a perfeck one excep 1 the next one 's 
better! 
World a-smilin', fresh an' new, an' all per- fumed with 

clover, 
Pepp'mint an' pennyroyal that 's sproutin' up all over. 

Daytime in Maytime, so dreamy-like an' lazy — 
Things enough t' think about t' drive a feller crazy! 
Time for ploughin', seedin' down — I railly should begin 

it, 
Where 's the man kin do it, though, an 1 take an interest 

in it? 

Daytime in Maytime ! It seems a feller orter 

Stake a claim beside the crick an' lay an' watch the 

worter 
Slippin' on, an' wavin' to him whilst it 's loafin' by 

him — 
Mebbe see a pick'url "break" an' cast a hook an' try 

him! 

Daytime in Maytime! Oh, where 's the equal of it? 
Orter shet my teeth I s'pose, an' cuss instead o' love it, 

5 



6 Daytime in Maytime 

'Cause no matter what I plan that even seems like 

workin', 
May comes on an' teaches me the gentle art o* shirkin* ! 

Daytime in Maytime! I '11 sacrifice my Duty — 
Gladly — on the altar place of May's etarnal beauty! 
Every day that follers on is brighter than the past 

one — 
Every May that comes along is better than the last 

one! 



"AFTERWHILE." 

AFTERWHILE" we say, an' sit 
Musin'-like an' dream of it — 
Thinkin' what we '11 be an' do 
" Af terwhile " when dreams come true, 
Foolin' our fool selves, y' see — 
Humanlike — with that idee 
That the afterwhiles are best, 
Hullsomest an' happiest. 

Ain't no blame attached t' none — 



That 's what folks have alius done, 

Drempt about their afterwhiles, 

Rubbed their hands an' forced their smiles 

Childish-like, an' I allow 

Never stopped t' think of how 

"Af terwhile" 's the saddest word 

That a mortul ever heard ! 

"Af terwhile" when spring comes on, 
Orchard blossoms come an' gone, 
Summer gloamin's, shadders, too, 
Breathe of age to me an' you! — 
Then our eyes won't be so bright, 
Nor so keen to sense delight — 
7 



"AfterwHile" 

Things will be more common, and 
Like enuff look second hand! 

"Afterwhile" my child, y' see, 
You won't be the same to me — 
We can't never romp nor play 
Like we used t' do, nor say 
"Squidum rhymes" er tromp an' shout, 
'Count o' bein' talked about! 
Afterwhiles? My law, they jest 
P'vent the didoes we like best ! 

11 Afterwhile" an* then it seems 
Life consists of dreamin' dreams — 
Dreams of things we did n't do, 
Yes, an 7 vicy-versy, too! 
No sir-e-e-e, I 'lectioneer 
For the whiles that 's now an' here — 
Would n't swap their cheer an' smiles 
For etarnal afterwhiles! 



APPERTAINS TO YOUNG 'UNS. 

YOUNG 'uns! Ain't they jest the wors'! 
Lawsey me, I gess there jest 
Ain't none in the Universe 

Nowise diflurnt from the rest ! 
Swanny, I ain't never saw 

Young 'uns eat — an' ain't it queer? — 
'Thout they 'd cry an' holler "Ma 
Did n't put no sugar here!" 

Never saw a young 'un yit, 

Gals or boys or ennything — 
Speshully boys — that did n't git 

Idee in his head 't was spring 
Jest as soon as snow was gone! 

Lawsey, but they kick a row, 
All their teasin', takin' on: 

11 Ma kin I go barefoot now? 11 

I don't s'pose no parunts live 

But have put their tikes t' bed, 
Taught 'em how t' be fergive, 

Tucked 'em in from heels t' head, 
Then gone out, an' bimeby 

Jest as they got ripe t' think, 
Heerd them dadburned young 'uns cry 

"Pa," or "Ma, I want a drink!' 1 
9 



SUNDAY THOUGHTS. 

SUNDAY, in the city, with its fine display an' 
show — 
Ain't it different from the Sunday that the country 

people know! 
Different — oh, so different ! — is its hurry an' its rush, 
From the simple, holy silence an' the God-inspired 

hush 
Country folks remember, who have up an' moved t' 

town, 
An' it makes us sort o' lonesomelike when Sunday 

comes aroun' ; 
Luggin' in your fashions, an' your doin's, seems so 

odd, 
Like a worldly grant t* Satan an' a compermis2 with 

God. 

Sunday in the city! Why, there 's nary bell or chime 
That a man can tune his heart with when it comes t' 

meetin time! 
Not a sound, I reckon, turnin' worldly thoughts away, 
Makin' Sunday any different from most any^other day ! 
An' your city "meetin"'! Do y' s'pose your hired 

choir 
Sings their music any sweeter or their anthems any 



higher 



10 



Sunday THo\igHts 1 1 

Than the village singers who are only volunteer? — 
Do y' s'pose that God don't listen 'cause they only 
sing by ear? 

Sunday in the country! Can't y' hear the meetin' 
bells 

Ringin' out upon the mornin\ and the message that 
each tells? — 

How the feast is waitin' an' the holy bread is broke 

An' the speerit waits communion with the honest, 
simple folk? 

Can't y' hear the singin' an' the long endurin' prayer, 

An' the lazy bees a-dronin' through the open windows 
there ? 

Can't y' see the parunts with their young 'uns in be- 
tween? 

Can't y' hear the swish an' rustle of some ancient 
bombazine? 

City an' the country ! Oh, we ' ve always been apart ! 
An' it ain't so much, I reckon, in the standards of our 

heart 
As it is in habits; why, I believe we both are good 
An' we 'd like each other better if we only understood. 
I ain't criticism' how you keep your Sabbath da; 
For I s'pose the Lord considers that it 's city folkses' 

ways, 
But I can't help a-thinkin' you 'd be glorified and 

blest 
By a Sunday in the count ry with its holiness an' rest. 



A YOUNG 'UN IN POKEBERRY TIME. 

GIVE me the knack an' the power t' rhyme 
The face of a young 'un in pokeberry time — 
Some sort o' rhyme that '11 picture him there, 
His round bullet head an' his tow-colored hair, 
Eyes filled with fun 'til they brim like a cup, 
A nose that is freckled an' sort o' pinched up, 
Mouth stretched in smiles like a circus show clown, 
All pokeberry stain an' the juice runnin' down. 

Give me a song that 's as honest as his — 

A song that '11 sing of the boy as he is, 

Just as he is, with the grime an' the dirt 

An' pokeberry juice on his "hickory" shirt — 

Juice on his chin an' his nose an' his ears, 

An 1 juice in his hair, but there 's nobody keers! 

Pirate of Boyhood a-lootin' the lands, 

The guilt of the pokeberry 's blood on his hands ! 

Give me a rhyme where there 's somewhere a word 
As ringin' an' clear as his laughter I 've heard — 
Somethin' 'twixt poetry, music, an' joy 
As keerless an' real as a berry-stained boy — 
Somethin' a feller kin weave int' rhyme 
An' tell of a young 'un in pokeberry time! 
Give me all these an' I '11 sing y', I jing, 
A song sweet as ever a mortal kin sing! 

12 



OUR YESTERDAYS. 

WE Ye traced our sweetest dreams, my dear, in 
yonder fire's glow, 
And never thought the pictures there were of a Long 

Ago: 
Unmindful of the fleeting years we 've wandered on, 

we two, 
And you have been the same to me and I the same to 

you — 
Your voice as sweet and hair as jet as ever, till 

to-night 
I saw a single strand of gray reflect the ruddy light, 
A single silver}- strand of gray 't was burnished by the 

ra; 
And then I knew the time has come when we have 

Yesterdays ! 



I had not ceased to think of you as blithe and young 
and fair, 

And I as strong and straight as when I waited on you 
there, 

Until to-night ! Our youngest one sat here upon my 
knee 

And looked into my eyes for long and studied ear- 
nestly, 

13 



14 Our "Yesterdays 

Then looked at you, and said at length — my heart was 

fairly wrung! — 
"I 'm trying to picture how you looked when she and 

you were young!" 
I tried to laugh it all away, but dear, through all the 

haze 
There came the thought, "The time has come when 

we have Yesterdays!" 



A CAVALRYMAN. 
(A tale of a Southwest army post.) 

THIS is a tale of a trooper, a fellow who had no 
God— 
Who earned his pay on a scrubby bay at the left of a 

ragged squad: 
Booted and spurred and cursing, with nary a thought 

of good, 
He made but one, as the rosters run, of the Fighting 
Brotherhood. 

Booted and spurred and cursing he cantered the 

scrubby bay, 
And none can tell of the desert spell that lured the 

man away ! 
Back came the mare to her masters, free of her reins 

and load, 
x\nd fast in the sheer of her saddle gear, a word from 

the man who rode. 

"Water — gone," he had written: "I reckin I got t' 

quit: 
I did have some but the showdown come and the mare 

was a-needin' it! 

15 



16 A Cavalryman 

Only — wanted — a — swallow t' cut out the dirt and 

the sand — 
I tried t' tell the critter but — hell! — she never could 

understand." 

Somewhere out in the Yonder, out on a scorching 

clod, 
He 's gone to sleep in a sun-dried heap — the Fellow 

Who Had No God! 
Yet, when the judgment 's passing and virtues no 

more are dim, 
I sometimes think that a man like this will stand at 

the right of Him! - 



OLD GOOD-BYES AND HOWDY-DO'S. 

THE old good-byes and howdy-do's! 
Now there 's a theme to tax your muse 
An' make it switch from tears t' smiles 
An' back again to tears, the whiles; 
No polished rhyme, but jist a strain 
As soft an' low as Apurl rain, 
That sings "good-bye" to kith an' kin — 
Then change your tune t' Home Agin! 

Oh, who can dream the sort o' rhyme 
That sheds the tears of leavin' time? — 
Good-bye t' mother, smutched with dough !— 
The stanchest friend you '11 ever know! — 
To home, to trees, the huntin' pup, 
An' crimson ramblers climbin' up 
To twist around the heart of you, 
An' tighter than they ever do ! 

An' sing it soft an' low to fit 
The partin' an' the pain of it! — 
To fit the way a feller feels 
When ol' familiar places steals 
Apast him on the wagon road — 
The boyhood spots he 's alius knowed ! 
2 17 



1 8 Old Good-Byes and Howdy-Do's 

An' make the tear that 's in his eye 
To rhyme a feller's last "good-bye." 

Then chuck a faster tempo in 
To sing a feller Home Agin! — 
Back home agin where he was riz 
ArC orter staid, as sayin' is! 
His mother's greetin', father's too, 
An' friends an' naybors' "Howdy-do!" 
The extry chair an' table set, 
That mother 's keepin' for him yet! i 

You poet chaps! You set an' dream, 
An' seem t' think the only theme 
That people like is in the skies ! 
Set down by me an* drop your eyes — 
Ease off a while an' git your tine 
In perfeck pitch an' tune with mine, 
Then try a sort o' keerless muse 
On "Or Good-byes an' Howdy-do's." 




My eyes ain't as good as they rvas 



MY EYES AIN'T AS GOOD AS THE/ WAS. 

OLD faces, old friends, an' old happiness, too, 
Old haunts that I cherish an' love, 
Old pleasures an' naybors an' folks that I knew 

An' jist can't see anything of — 
What 's come of 'em all? Ain't there none left a'tall? 

Or mebbe it 's only because 
It 's me that can't see 'em, for, donblame it all, 
My eyes ain't as good as they was! 

Old cronies and comrades ! Oh, where have they gone? 

It can't be they 've gone on before; 
Why is it that none of 'em — nary a one ! — 

Comes down to the village no more? 
I can't recollect seem' hide nor a hair 

Of one of 'em ! Mebbe it 's 'cause 
I pass 'em an' prob'ly don't know who they air, 

For my eyes ain't as good as they was. 

I want to look into their faces once more, 

An' feel all the heft of their hand, 
An' talk about folks we remember before, 

An' things that old men understand, 
But — blame it, my eyes are a-runnin' again! 

I reckon all old fellers' does 
From bein' out in the wind, an' — an' — then 

My eyes ain't as good as they was! 

19 



CHICK-A-REE CRICK IN PENNSYLVANY. 

(After havin' got about tired waitin' fer some poet 
to come along an' sing about Chick-a-ree as it orter 
be sung, I 'm goin' t' try it myself in a sort o' keer- 
less fashion.) 

SLOPIN' banks of Chick-a-ree!— 
Worter crawlin' slow an' free 
'Twixt its flanks of velvet-fine 
Tinted up with dandyline — 
Past the willers, past the mill, 
Fallin' over "Parkin's Spill" 
Through the "narrers," tumblin' out, 
Stoppin' there t' spin about, 
Then t' rest an' listen to 
Thrush's song or pigeon's coo ; — 
Shamiri mortul man a lot 
With the happy way it 's got! 

Injun name — first pioneer 
Teamed it in an' settled here, 
Heerd 'em call it "Chick-a-ree," 
Meanin' "worter runnin' free" — 
"Chick-a-ree" we call it still, 
An' I guess we alius will. 

20 



CKicK-a-ree CricK in Pennsylvania 21 

Runs so dreamylike an' slow, 
Seems t' me that if y'd throw- 
Chip in there 't would foller straight 
Where its dusky sponsors wait — 
Through the woods an' on — an' on — 
Where their birch canoes is gone! 

Worter cold an' crisp an' clare, 
Mirrorin' the pitchers there 
Of the trees an' skies of blue, 
An' the world it 's loafin' through — 
Flashin' up, as like as not, 
Pitchers that I 've nigh fergot — 
Freckled boys with tousseled hair, 
Used t' loaf an' peer in there! 
Ever' ripple, pool, an' rift 
Seems t' set my thoughts adrift — 
Seems t' have peculiar knack 
Of recallin' mem'ries back! 

'T was n't made t' seine er fish — 
Jest t' dream beside an' wish, 
Jest t' lop beside an' stretch 
01' roomatick bones, an' ketch 
Speerit of this world o' His 
Deeper than the worter is! — 
Souse yer body in it, too — 
Let it soak y' through an' through! 
Ain't no dadburned poet's song 
Half so sweet, ner half so long, 
As the song o' Chick-a-ree 
Singin' in the heart of me ! 



THE TOWN JOKER. 

BIDE APPLEBEE he sez t' me 
A spell ago, he sez, sez he, 
"What was it that you give your horse 
The time it had the botts?" O' course 
That bein' sort o' in my line 
I sez, "I give him turpentine." 

It run along fer quite a spell, 
A month or mebbe more an' — well 
One evenin' 'Bide come int' town 
An' hitched his team an' settled down 
In Parkin's store against a sack — 
His face was long 's a wagon track! 

"What was it, Hi," he sez t' me, 
"You give your horse fer botts?" sez he; 
"Jist turpentine," I sez, an ; 'Bide 
Sez, "So did I, but my horse died!" 
"Well, so did mine," I sez, an' cussed 
'F I did n't think them boys would bust! 



22 



"M-O-T-H-E-R!" 

FIFTY times, or more, a day 
Hear 'em call her thataway!- 
Out t' play perhaps, or fetch 
Kindlin' wood or mebbe ketch 
Hens or shoo the turkey-cocks 
Out o* reach o' chicken hawks; 
Somethin' in their eyes, or got 
Stung by wassups, like as not, 
Fingers pinched, or gypsies nigh — 
Anything that makes 'em cry 
Sends 'em to the house from play- 
First oddrotted thing they say 
Is: " M-o-t-h-e-r!" 



"Mother" this an' "mother" that 
'Til she don't know where she 's at 
'Twixt her pans an' kittles and 
Young 'uns all around her! "Land," 
She-says-she, "let up on maw! 
Why not go an' ask your paw 
Jest fer change?" an' then, blame-don, 
Tells 'em how they 're wearin' on 
Feelin's, nerves, an' ears an' sich, 
"Mother'in"' every whip-an'-stitch ! 

23 



24 "M-o-t-H-e-r" 

Talks 'em quiet, purty nigh, 
'Til she 's interrupted by 
"M-o-trhre-r!" 



Yit, for all her takin' on 
'Bout their pesterin', blame-don, 
When they went with Uncle Joe 
Up t' see the circus show — 
First an' only day she jest 
Railly had a chance t' rest ! — 
What 'd she do? She set an' set, 
Handkerchuf jist wringin' wet ; 
"Give that quarter section there," 
She declared, "throw in the mare, 
Heifers, too — an' grain — an' hay — 
Jist t' hear one young 'un say: 
'M-o-t-h-e-r.'" 



MAIRY ELLEN. 

I WISH that some day God would put the magic in 
my pen 
To weave her beauty into rhyme, the way I saw her 

then! 
I wish He 'd guide my pen t' write of Sunday afternoon 
The way it used t' be at Jim's, all sunny sweet with 

June, 
Then help me trace the softest lines to pitcher Mairy 

there 
Before her ol' melodeum, as purty, sweet an' fair 
As June itself outside the door — an' then, if it could be, 
Would help me hum the song she played: "Then 

You '11 Remember Me." 

She wa'n't like others — Mairy wa'n't — "She 's wilful," 

Jim would say; 
She wore them highfalutin' things an' used t' play 

crokay 
An' go to dances like as not, or if some city chap 
Come gallivantin' 'round perhaps she 'd sort o' set her 

cap 
An* 'fore he knowed she 'd ketch him too, an' shock 

the nayborhood ! 
But, lawsy me, I never thought she 's nothin' else but 

good — 

25 



26 Mairy Ellen 

She had the stamp o' goodness on as any one could see 
Who ever heerd her play an' sing "Then You '11 Re- 
member Me." 

It has been said the good die young an' — well, I guess 

it 's so, 
Else why would He take Mairy home before her time 

t' go? 
An* left her pa an' ma alone — all soul alone! — at hum, 
To dream of Mairy Ellen there at her melodeum 
A-singin' of them ol' time songs, like what she used t' 

do, 
That June an' all the world outside would stop an' 

listen to! 
An' through the tears that dim his eyes I reckin Jim 

can see 
Jist what she meant when Mairy sung "Then You '11 

Remember Me." 



OLD JIM WADE. 

(Somethin' about Old Jim Wade, veteran soldier, 
who drummed all through the army an* now he 's 
drammm' for the Perry Cornet Band an' drummin' 
darned good yit !) 

OLD Jim Wade of the First Dragoons ! 
He 's still drummin' them army tunes, 
Jist as lively an' jist as free — 
Jist as grand as they used t' be ! 
Tunes the soldiers remembers yit — 
Tunes recallin' the days they fit 
Under the guidons of "Little Phil" 
From Harper's Ferry t' Fisher's Hill. 

Back when the nation was needin' sons 
Most of 'em natcherly took t' guns, 
'Ceptin' Jim an' he says — says he: 
"I choose sticks an' a drum for me," — 
Took 'em, too, an' the old Dragoons 
All remember his stirrin' tunes 
Minglin' still with the battle shout 
Drummin' blues an' the rebels out ! 

Peace come on an' the war's alarms 
Come to end, an' they dropped their arms 

27 



28 Old Jim Wade 

'Cordin' to orders — excepting Jim — 

Said that it did n't apply to him! 

He allowed that the terms that come 

Did n't refer to a feller's drum! 

Then he come home an" he turned a hand 

Play::.' the snare for the village band. 

Nowadays when the band goes by, 
Uniformed an' a-steppin' high, 
The}' 're possessed of the fool idee 
They 're the attraction, but no sir-e-e-e. 
People ginerally looks for Jim, 
Realizin' they see in him — 
Smallest man in the band, an' last — 
The soul of battle a-marchin' pas: ! 

Like exmfi "hen the Judgment 's come 
They '11 be needin' a man t' drum — 
Some one to lead all the shadow he 
Of the boys that won an' the boys that lost ; 

:2r '11 summon him loud an' clear; 
•'Drummer Wade?" an' he '11 answer "Here!" 
Then Peter '11 order, as stiff as starch ; 
• • Havioot !— Strawfoot !— For'rd \— March!" 



A PROTEST. 

FOR thirty years now, come an' gone, 
Since Elder Hawkins made us one, 
I 've lived with ma, 'cept off an' on 

When she 's been off a-visitun 
Her fambly's folks at Turkey Hatch, 
An ' left me home a-keepin' bach; 
An ' all I 've got t' say for ma 

I could n't write if I should try. 
Her cookin' — kindness an ' — my law 

She 's railly saintly, mighty nigh, 
Excep' her habit, that endures, 
Of overdoin' fambly cures! 

* ' ' Scorcht my pelt 
With her mustard 'til I 've smelt 
My past record! Then, blame-don, 
Socked a cayenne plaster on 
Small o' my back "because," says ma, 
"Sometimes mustard fails t' draw!'' 
Soaked my feet in worter hot 
'Xuff t' bile 'em, like as not! 
Planked her flatirons 'round me too — 
Liked t' burnt the covers through! 
Gargled me with liniment 
'Til I gagged an' felt content 

29 



30 -A. Protest 

To forgit the ills I had 

'Cause the cure was :~ ice as bad! 

Bled me! An 1 spread poultices 

'Crosst my inn'ards 'til I jis' 

T-". " Doggone it anyhow 

Wish old Gabe would trumpet now!" 

Then the worst o' mother's faults 

Follered after — Epsom salts! — 

Jimmie-e-e. they alius spile 

Fambly ties an' reconcile 

Me t' death an' I-thinks-I 

"Lord, thy servant 's drawin' nigh!" 

When I git so weak an' pain 

Racked that I jist can't complain 

Ma she smiles an' whispers, "Wes, 

Fever ? s goin' down I guess — 

Ain't no misery endures 

'Gainst my good ol' fashioned cures." 

Thirty years now, come an' gone, 
She 's doctored me by fits an' starts, 

With mustard plasters — off er on — 

Er maybe somethin' else that smarts, 
7:1 I 'd give up a half I own 

T' enjoy a sickness once — alone! 



TEMPTED. 

JUST to see the dawning of another country day, 
Just to see the glint again on meadow grass and 
clover, 
Just to see the morning sun kiss all the dew away 
And spread in golden patches all the smiling coun- 
try over. 

Just to tread the bank again where roguish waters pass. 
Just to hear their music like a friendly fiddle play- 

mcr 

Just to be the target for a kill-dee's noisy M sa 

That nests among the branches of the leafy sumach 
swaying. 

Just to stretch my length again beside the fishing hole. 
Somewhere in the silence where the stream has 
ceased its prating, 
Just to feel the thrill again along an alder pole 

And meet the test of patience in the simple knack 
of waiting. 

Just to go and be a part of what I used to know. 
Just to tune my heart again with summer's drowsy 
humming — 
This alone would tempt me to forget my task and go 
When vagrant breezes whisper through my open 
window: "Coming?" 
31 



HIPPERCRITS. 

THE time we ast the preacher here fer afternoon 
an' tea 
My mother sed I had t' act as good as I kin be; 
I had t' keep my necktie on an' ansur "mam?" an* 

"sir?" 
An' use my hankerchef without no reprimand from 

her, 
An* bow my head an' keep it bowed until "fer Jesus 

sake," 
An* must n't ast fer sugar er anuther piece of cake, 
An* be a little gennleman, an' nevur say a word 
'Cause fellers 'bout the size o' me is seen an' never 

heard. 



An' ma she told my father 'at he *d have t' polish up 
His manners too, an' must n't stick his crackers in his 

cup 
Ner souse his bread in coffee like he alius likes t' do, 
An' had t' keep his elbows off the dinner table, too, 
An' had t' wear a napkin, an' not chuck it in his chin, 
But lay it crossways on his lap an' stick a corner in — 
An' lock the puppy in the barn because she did n't 

keer 
T' have no pup t' bother when the minister was here. 

32 



Hippercrits 33 

An' when the preacher got around that evenin' pa an* 

me 
Was 'zackly like she told us, jes' as good as we cud 

be, 
An' listened to him tell about "the hippercrits in 

church 
Who prey on holy people, an' who tarnish an' be- 
smirch 
The house of faith," an' give "the cause of piety a 

taint 
By tryin' t' make the world believe that they are what 

they ain't"; 
An' ma an' pa agreed with him in ever 'thing I guess, 
'Cause ever 'thing he sed to 'em the both of 'em sed 

"yes." 

An' when the preacher 'd gone away then ma she sed 

t' me 
T come an' set beside her 'cause she sed she 'd like t 5 

see 
How much attention I had paid, an' if I 'd paid a bit, 
An' then she ast me out an' out "what was a hipper- 

crit?" 
I dun my best t' reckolect an' then I sed t' ma 
"I reckin that a hippercrit is jest like me an' pa." 
...... 

. . . An' ma she cuffed my head 
An' pa gave me a wallopin' an' sent me off t' bed! 

3 



"JES' ONE STORY MORE." 

11 TES' one story more," they 'd say, 

<J Hangin' on me thataway 
Bees does on a hollyhock 
That they 've fairly dreened! I jock, 
How they dumb around my chair, 
Here an' there an' everywhere — 
Bangui* with their copper toes 
'Gin my shins, an' pullin' nose, 
Hair an' whiskers — everything 
That was p tillable, I jing! 
Dozen childern, big an' small, 
Hangin' on me, beggin' all 

Fer "jes' one story more!" 

Drift o' most the stories was 
Xatcherly, to'rds Sandy Claus — 
Who he is an' where he 's from — 
Where he lives when he 's t' hum — 
Where he alius summers at — 
Reindeers — toys — an' sich as that, 
'Til if blamed gran' jury 'd knowed 
They 'd o' sent me over road — 
Primy facy! — yes sir-e-e-e — 
On a charge o' perjury! 
34 



"Jes' One Story More" 35 

Yit I could n't stop, y' know, 
With the childern beggin' so 
Fer "jes' one story more!" 

Now they 've all growed up an' gone, 
An', with Christmas comin' on, 
'Pears t' me the house is jest 
Stillest-like an' lonesomest 
House a body ever see ! — 
Nothin' but the clock an' me! 
Law, the squeakin' of my chair 
'S loud enough t' raise my hair 
// I Jiad some! 

An' there 's spells 
When, I swan, my wizzen swells 
Big 's a body's fist, an* I — 
Like they used to ! — almost cry 
Fer "jes' one story more!" 



TO A LITTLE BOY. 

WAS n't it a funny dream? Worth a youngster's 
laughter, 
Thinking how you grew a man just a minute after 
Mother tucked you snug in bed, 
Kissed you and your prayers were said, 
And you watched the kitchen light creep along the 

rafter? — 
Watched until your lids were sewed by Sleep's mys- 
terious stitches, 
Then, by some strange wizardry of goblins or of 

witches, 
Saw yourself a-standing there in coat and vest and 
britches ! 

Was n't it the strangest thing, relieved of all the 

bothers 
Incident to growing up and wearing clothes like 
father's? 
All your curls were gone, it seemed — 
Cut away! — and as you dreamed 
You were just the way you 'd be if you could have 

your rathers ! 
Gingham waists were cast away, ribbon bows and laces, 

36 



To a Little Boy 37 

Sterner dress for grown-up folks had seemed to take 

their places — 
Just like really, truly men, with slivers in their faces ! 

Still, by far the oddest thing — I 'd scarcely think it of 

you!— 
Though you seemed to be at home with friendly skies 

above you, 
Mother love and kindness, too, 
Still your fancy pictured you 
Waiting at the gate to say good-bye to those who love 

you! 
Next you knew 't was day again and 'cross the fields 

of daisy, 
Buttercup, and dancing dew the light came soft and 

hazy — 
Mother kissed your tangled curls and robins chorused 

"Lazy!" 

Wasn't it a funny dream? — and so strange that mother 
Listened to you tell of it then quickly found another 

Theme for you to talk about ; 

Strange how father wandered out 
All alone behind the barn, nor spoke to one another! 
Yet it was a funny dream and doubtless when you 

told her 
Mother should have laughed instead of crying on your 

shoulder — 
Only mothers never do, you'll learn as you grow older! 



H. SIMMS'S NEW DAUGHTER-IN-LAW. 



w 



E wondered an' wondered, his ma an* me, 
What sort of a wife John's wife would be! 
"She 's good an' purty," his letter read; 
"But then, that 's natcherl, " his mother said, 
"That he should think her the finest gel 
In all o' the world — but time will tell." 
But, bein' that she was of city stock, 
We sort o' felt that his choice might mock 
Our simple ways an' our simple dress, 
An' both of us sniffled a bit, I guess! 

I s'pose we 'd orter o' fixed up some 

Against the time that they said they 'd come — 

We 'd orter o' shingled an' patched the fence, 

An' painted the house that ain't been since 

The flood I guess ; an' I s'pose we 'd ort 

O' got some carpets, an' tried t' sort 

01' keepsakes out, such as pitchers and 

01' lamberkins on the shelves an' stand, 

An' hid 'em away, but no sir-e-e-e-e-e 

"It would n't be home to John," says she. 

An' fin'lly they come but law-my-law 
The s'prisedest man that ever you saw 

38 




H. Simms's New Daughter-in-law 



H. Simms's New DaugHter-in-La-w 39 

Was your'n truly — H. Simms — because 
The livin' spit of his ma, she was! — 
With hair as fair an' with eyes as blue 
As them I see when I 'm peekhV through 
The passin' years into Mem'ry's haze 
At ma an' me, in our court in' days — 
The same sweet smile an' the twinklin' fun — 
An' kissed me, too, like his mother done! 

I could n't ever fergit the drive 

From depo' home again — sakes alive, 

She 's out an' in an' out agin 

Gatherin' blossoms an' daisies in 

U T take t' mother," she said, for all 

As if ma did n't have none at all! 

An' anxious? Law, she could skeersely wait 

T' git t' ma at the lower gate, 

An' kissed her cheeks an' she hugged her, too, 

An' cried an' whispered "He looks like you. 11 

He never was much of a hand for fuss 
But I guess John ? s purty nigh glad as us 



OL' DOC FOLINSBEE. 

I'VE alius thought some day I 'd take my pen in hand 
an' see 
'F I couldn't write some fittin' rhyme on ol' Doc 

Folinsbee — 
A simple rhyme that Doc could read an' then could 

take an' skim 
The top off of an' underneath could find my love fer 

him! 
I 've done my best — er started to! — I '11 bet y' fifty 

times, 
But — well, I guess that Doc 's too big fer my poor sort 

o' rhymes, 
'Cause ever' time I 've tried my hand I 've stuck where 

I began, 
An' never got no further than "oV Doc 's a friend t' 

man " 

Fer forty years he 's held the fort around these Swazy 
hills " 

An' flanked an' pecked the enemy with ever' sort o' 
pills 

An' poultyces an' intments, too, an' "blisters," land 
o' love, 

That no one 'ceptin' Doc hisself 's got any know- 
ledge of! 

40 



Ol' Doc Folinsbee 41 

Fer forty years he 's trundled 'round behind that ol* 

bell mare 
A-dosin' up a sick 'un here an' 'ficiatin' there 
Where famblies was "a-addin' to" — why half the 

village kit 
Owed Doc a debt when they begun — an' parunts owe 

him yit! 

He never kep' no track o' things an' consyquences is 
That he 's in ever'body's debt an' ever* one 's in his 
'Bout twict as much as he 's in their 'n, an' here last 

May er March 
The Masons' Lodge they had t' meet — Doc bein' 

Royal Arch — 
An' 'greed t ' back his note fer bills he owed t' Henry Oaks 
The drug store man, fer medicines he 'd got fer other 

folks! 
But spite o' that no rivul kin put Doc up on the shelf — 
They 've tried 'fore now but Swazy alius settles that 

itself! 

He ain't no speshul learned man, an' never kin be rich, 
Ner ain't no honored "feller" in academies an' sich; 
The "Secret" or the "Source o' Life" ain't bothered 

him a bit — 
He 's spent his time, an' money, too, I 'low, perlongin'it, 
An' kep' the township figgerin' an' wonderin' which 

dos't, 
His pills er good ol' hullsomeness, helps invulids the 

most! 
I guess the best that I kin do is let that one line stan', 
It seems t' fit Doc Folinsbee, "He 's jist a friend t' 

man." 



BEN TARR ON EDUCATION. 

IT ain't the things men learn in books that makes 
'em tower up, 
An' makes 'em swell, as feller says, a-like a pizened 

pup; 
It 's what y' see an' profit by — the things o' common 

sense — 
That rigger in the final run as things o' consyquence. 

The smartest man I ever knowed knowed jist enuff t* 

keep 
About an inch er so beyant a mule's kickin' "sweep " — 
He knowed enuff t' never wear a shirt of red, ner pull 
Bandana out when crossin' lots where naybors kep' a 

bull. 

He knowed which was the lovin' ends o' yeller jacks 

an' bees, 
An' when a ram come at him there was virtue climbin' 

trees ; 
He had them bits o' knowledge that no school per- 

fessers git, 
An* consyquences of it is the feller 's livin' yit ! 



42 



OLD CHUMS RE-UNITED. 

" HPHE boy that used to sit with me"— 

1 How many times, while musing, we 
Have drawn the curtains back again 
That hid from us the world of Then — 
The curtains heavy with the grime 
And dust of long forgotten time — 
And necromancy brings to view 
The boyhood world that once we knew! 
The fields beyond the drowsy town, 
The lawless rangers up and down 
The river bank, or aiming where 
The willows guard the pickerel's lair; 
The school — the glint of gingham frock, 
The merry memories that mock 
The years we Ve lost — the jackanapes! 

Then — one of all — we seem to see 
Among the merry, shifting shapes, 

"The boy that used to sit with me." 

A careless goddess fashioned him, 
Yet perfectly from flapping brim 
To grimy heels! She touched his lips 
With laughter sweet as honey-drips — 
She touched his eyes with merriment, 
And made his boyish heart the vent 

43 



44 Old Chums Re-United 

For all that of itself must bless 
The goddess and her carelessness! 
He knew which fishing hole was best, 
He knew the woods, the hangbird's nest; 
By some device he used to call 
The partridges and quail and all 
The other birds that used to flee 
At very sight of you and me! — 
• He knew the secrets of the trees 

And foliage, and knew the soil 
The mandrakes sought, and held the keys 

To hoards of mint and pennyroyal. 

"The boy that used to sit with me" 
Came back last night ! Together we 
Pledged fellowship of Long Ago, 
Yet sat apart like strangers, so 
Unlike was he! I, tempted some, 
To chide the fates that stole my chum 
Who "spit between his teeth and swam 
Three times across the Kitten- Dam 
Then back again" — a record then! — 
And brought h im back to me again 
In specs — and bald! It is not strange 
A fellow's chum resents the change! 
'Til, tempered by the mellow wine, 
I searched his heart as he searched mine, 
And found the same old spirit there, 

The same old cheer and seemed to see 
Behind the mask of years and care 

"The boy that used to sit with me." 



SOME REAL FIDDLIX". 

I'VE knowed a lot o' fellers who could fiddle mighty 
prime, 
An' seemed t' me it alius sort o' settled in my toe 
An' sent me "down the centre" in a record breakin' 
time 
To balance on the corners with a girl I used t' know ; 
I 've loved it — Oh, I 've loved it ! — every soul endurin' 
chord 
Comes ringin' down through mem'ry till I think 
they 're playin' ye: : 
But my idees are changin' since the other night I 
heard 
A feller named MacMillan when he played a minuet ! 

The men I 've knowed that fiddled have been mostly 
"free-for-all" 
As savin' is, an' partial to the "01' Gray Eagle" 
brands 
Of fiddle music mostl}- — that 's the kind I 've liked t' 
call 
The "good ol' fashioned music that a pore man 
understands"; 
I reckon that I 've loved it 'cause it 's all I ever knew. 
An' tooth an' nail I 've fought for it an' bragged of 
it, an' yet 

45 



46 Some Real Fiddlin' 

The other night I weakened an* I plum surrendered to 
That feller named MacMillan when he played that 
minuet ! 

I've looked for words to rhyme it but, I swan, there 's 
nary one 
That 's good enough or nowheres near entrancin'- 
like an' sof ' — 
There wa'n't no way of tellin' where the melody begun 
No more than what there was a way to tell where 
it left off! 
It sort o' started somewhere like as if a master hand 
Was reachin' down from somewhere like in fairy 
tales it does, 
An' bowin' that 'ere fiddle for that man MacMillan 
and 
A thousand times more sweeter than "Gray Eagle" 
ever was! 

The music first reminded me of somethin' like a 
storm — 
Of like enough an Aprul storm of snow an' rain an' 
hail, 
An' then he coaxed her down a bit until the sun shone 
warm 
An' all the world was glad again an* chasm' of its tail ! 
It railly held me spellbound, sort o' mesmerized, for 
shore, 
'Cause when that man MacMillan finished up his 
minuet 
I was holdin' hands with some one that I never saw 
before ! — 
I would n't be a bit surprised if she was laffin* yet! 



CALLIN' THE ROLL. 

DOZIN' by the kitchen fire an' dreamin' dreams 
agin, 

A-bringin' back the happy days with school-day pleas- 
ures in, 

Bringin' back the winter times — how dreams contrive 
to fool!— 

An' rosy young 'uns leggin' off to'rds Gage's Districk 
School ; 

Back they come a-trompin' through my Fancy's magic 
spell — 

I seem to see 'em gathered there, an' hear the mornin* 
bell 

Tinklin' in the frosty room, an' then, upon my soul, 

Through all the years that 's vanished Addie Rhine- 
hart calls the roll! 

1 ' Angeliny Appinger " — " Tom Allen " — ' ' Herbert 

Ames" — 
How Memory jist fairly glows at them familiar 

names ! 
"Abner Berks "— " Elisha Bond"— "Bud Berks"— 

an' loud and clear 
Through the chambers of my memory each young *un 

answers "Here!" 

47 



48 Callin' tHe Roll 

"Ann Serepty Burlingame" — an' silence casts its 
spell, 

Each young 'un looks with downcast eyes; ah, I re- 
member well 

Her saddened face, her vacant seat, our teacher's 
tears, an* then 

She whispered that we 'd never see our little friend 
again, 

"Martin Crouch" — was next in line, oV fat an' 

freckled Mart — 
Lord had t' make him extry big t' hold his bulgin' 

heart! 
"Lem'l Dawson" — "Hiram Driggs" — an' Hiram's 

brother, "Bunt," 
Was stalwarts that was alius there — an' usually in 

front ; 
"Bessie Sykes" an' "Mairy Berks" an' lispin' "Tildy 

Feth," 
Who pulled her braids endurin' roll an' alius answered 

"Yeth!" 
Through my dreams they answered "Here" — well, 

not adzackly all, 
For some of them are answerin' the Heavenly Teach- 
er's call. 

Down through all the alphabet an' finally to "S" — 
Now there 's where all my hopes an' fears an' longin's 

was I guess — 
There the name was written that, with flourishes an' 

crooks, 
I 'd copied on the margins of my ragged copy books! 
Teacher spoke the name again! 



Callin* the Roll 



49 



I wakened with a start, 
I felt the same oV bashfulness an' tuggin' at my heart, 
An', maybe it was fancy, but around behind my cheer 
I saw your mother standin' an' I thought she an- 
swered, "Here!" 



4 



A DAMPER ON DISCIPLINE. 

WHERE 'S that child?" I said, an' went 
An' cut a long beech gad, an' trum 
Branches off, an' really meant 

T' tan his jacket when he come— 
Tan it right! — an' learn him not 

T' gallivant through all outdoors, 
Specially when he knows he 's got 
T get the cows an' do the chores. 

"Where 's that boy?" I says, an' ast 

The na} T bor's folks, a-thinkm' they 
Might o' seen him goin' past, 

An' hailed him when he run away; 
Nary hide ner hair the} 7 'd seen 

No more 'n me ! — an' law, I stretched 
Fingers 'round that limber green 

Beech gad o' mine untwell they etched! 

"Where 's that child?" I ast, an' got 

A leetle trimbly, I expeck, 
Thinkin' mebbe like as not 

He 'd fell some'eres an' bruk his neck! 
Hunted through the loft an' out 

Behind the barn an' down the run, 
Places young 'uns think about 

An' head for when they look for fun. 
50 



.A Damper on Discipline 51 

" Where 's my boy ? n I whined, an' then 

As if in answer there he come 
Down the pastcher lane again 

An' headin' straight for us an' home — 
Steppin' high an' straight an' sta'nch 

And proud as Grant, as like as not — 
An' draggin' from a wilier branch 

The first horndays he ever caught ! 

"Where you been?" I says, an' looks 

Right in his eyes an' there I saw 
Pitchers of the fields an' brooks 

An' things a young *un loves! My law, 
All my temper left my head, 

I throwed that beech gad good an' strong! — 
'Stead o' what I 'd planned, I said: 

"Why don't y' take your pa along?" 



THE EXILE AND THE CITY. 

I'M sick of your soft palaver, 
I 'm sick of the way you fawn — 
Of your subtle arts that deceive our hearts 

'Til the best of our lives is gone, 
I 'm sick of your rush and scramble, 

Your devilish siren call — 
I 'm sick of your noise and your shallow joys, 
I 'm sick of it — sick of it all ! 

I 'm sick of your lights and glamor, 

I 'm sick of your sin-paved ways — 
I loath the sights of your wakeful nights, 

The grind of your sordid days ; 
I 'm weary of trying and failing, 

Of sowing for others to reap — 
Of futures that fade and promises made 

You never intended to keep ! 

I 'm sick of your place of shadows — 

I long for a patch of sky, 
A smell of fields that the valley yields 

To the southwind hurrying by; 
I long for the paths and freedom 

That only the dreamer shares — 
Then go to rest upon Nature's breast, 

A mother who really cares ! 
52 



CHRISTMAS CHEER AT HOME. 

WAY above the noise an' clutter an' the jarrin' 
sort o' rhyme 
That pervades a tarnal city all endurin' Christmas 

time, 
There 's a happy sort o* measure, jes' as simple as kin 

be 
That appeals t' simple fellers jist about the style o' 

me. 
It 's the spirit of a Christmas comin', ringin', singin' 

down — 
Of a Christmas back in Swazy 'fore we up an* moved t' 

town, 
Where our appetite got " tony " an* demanded Frenchy 

feed, 
An' our bank account got busted an 1 our conscience 

went to seed! 
Of a Christmas 'mongst some people every bit as good 

as them 
Who was 'round the sainted manger on that day at 

Bethlehem! 
Can't y' hear 'em? Can't y' see 'em? Can't y' clasp 

their hands agin? 
Can't y' hear their happy greetin's as they come 

a-flockin' in? 

53 



54 GHristmas Cheer at Home 

It was "Howdy, Cousin Rodney!" 

It was "Howdy, Uncle John! 
How is aunt, an' all the childern, 

An' the stock a-comin' on? 
Well, I want to know ! Here 's Lucy 

An' the twins, an' Mary's Paul! 
Here is company, mother — company/ 

Merry Christmas to y' all!" 

There was Wigginses an' Platers an' the Hills an' 

Bakers, too, 
An' the Crumps was comin' later when the road was 

broken through; 
There was 'Lige an' Hiram Oldam — though they 

was n't kith or kin 
They was alius mighty welcome on account o' fiddlin'. 
An' there 's Thomps an' Lester Morgan an' their 

cousin come from town, 
An' the Burton gals from Plunketts, an' the ol' war- 

widder Brown 
Who was alius present with us 'cause she had no place 

t' stay, 
An' she used t' stir our feelin's an' our pity Christmas 

day! 
There was others I 've forgotten, an' 't would stretch 

my pencil some 
To describe the Christmas baskets nearly twict the size 

of 'em! 
An' there 's nary rhyme, I swanny, that would make 

y' understand 
All the depth an' breadth of welcome when we grasped 

'em by the hand. 



CHristmas Cheer at Home 55 

It was ''Howdy, Mister Granby — 

Don't y' ever mind the snow!" 
It was "Howdy, Cousin Lucy 

An' the twins — I want to know! 
Well, if here ain't Aunt Serepty! 

Put your wraps in yender hall — 
Ma, y* better turn the damper — 

Merry Christmas to y' all!" 

You kin build your city buildin's an' kin build 'em 

broad an' high — 
You kin pass your ordinances shuttin' out the very 

sky — 
You kin hedge me in with trollies an' with walls of 

brick an' sich, 
An' kin consecrate my efforts to the pockets of the 

rich; 
But y' can't p'vent me dozin' in my squeakin' swivel 

cheer 
An' a-dreamin' of a Christmas in a better place than 

here! 
All your citified contraptions an' their rumble an' 

their roar 
Ain't enurf t' drown the greetin's of the naybors at the 

door, 
For above the noise an' clutter an' the traffic an' the 

din 
I kin hear their sleighbells jingle an' kin hear 'em wel- 
comed in. 

It was "Howdy, Mister Johnson!" 
An' 'twas "Howdy, same t' you!" 



56 CHristmas Cheer at Home 

An' "The other folks is comin' 

When the road gits broken through" — 

"Be::er s:ir the fire, mother, 
For they 're purty cold, y' see — 

Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" 
To tliem all — except m' — me! 



FALLTIME IX SWAZY. 

THERE 'S a touch of Fall in the air— a feelin' all 
over the town 
That 's told by the trees and the sharpenin' breeze, an' 
the swirl of the leaves comin' down; 
It 's sensed in the oaks' an' the maples' disgui: 
The flap of the 'bus-driver's hat in his eyes, 
The crack of his whip an' the style of his song, 
An' swing of his arms as he rattles along ; 
The storekeeper's dog has forsaken his mat, 
An' sought out the sun with the shoemaker's cat, 
An' there 's nobody else in sight exceptin' old Jerry 
McClune 

Meanderin' by, 

Unusually spry, 

A-trillin' the air of an old army tune. 



There's a touch of Fall in the air; why, even the noise 

of the mill 
Sounds tumble near, the air is so clear, an' things are 
so solemn an' still; 
The jolt of a wagon or trace hangin' down, 
A body can hear 'em all over the town — 
The ring of the anvil an' tinsmith's tattoo 
Make twice as much noise as they commonly do! 

57 



58 Falltime in Swazy 

An' down in the Square by the Courthouse t'day 
The sunshine behaved in a scandalous way; 
It smiled an' it frowned an' it cried, 'til I reckined Miss 
Summer was mad, 

An' tossin' her head 
Of gold and of red, 
As if she was drunk with the fun she has had ! 

There's a touch of Fall in the air; I noticed it special 

to-night, 
The porch shadders fell and lingered a spell, then 
melted away out o' sight 
Along with the sun that laid down in the West, 
As if it was tired an' needful fer rest. 
The hired man skirmished until he had found 
Some logs for the grate an' we gathered around — 
The hull fambly of us! — an' pa, he-says-he 
"A panful o' pippins, now, won't offend me!" 
An' mother, she drawed the shades an' carefully shut 
the stair 

That led t' the loft, 
An' says, sort o' soft: 
"I vum, there 's a feelin' o' Fall in the air." 



THE OLD ROSE DRESS. 

BENEATH the eaves where the fragrant bloom 
Sweeps back and forth like the player's bow 
Across the strings, and the attic room 

Is rilled with a cadence, soft and low, 
Away in the corner, where none may know, 
A chest is hidden — grown old so soon ! — 
And there, with the treasures of Long Ago, 
The old rose dress of another June. 

Her first long dress ! for the bride was young, 

Her heart was light and her face was fair 
The day she buried the gown among 

Her cherished things, and she left it there. 
Now Time has whitened her raven hair, 

And life sings low in a plaintive tune, 
Except when she steals up the attic stair, 

To the old rose dress of another June. 

Her own have come, and her own have gone, 

And all have stood 'neath the marriage bell, 
Where guests were gathered to bid them on 

Their rosied way and to wish them well; 
The guests have gone and the silent spell 

Has come, that follows the bridal noon, 
And found her there, where the teardrops fell 

On the old rose dress of another June. 

59 



60 The Old Rose Dress 

No man may know of the woman's part 

In life's whole test, nor the tears it brings, 
Nor understand how her woman's heart 

Is all enwrapped by the little things — 
A little worn shoe with its tasselled strings, 

A broken slate or a pewter spoon — 
And, oh, the wealth of joy that clings 

To the old rose gown of another June! 



FREDERIC REMINGTON. 

(An appreciation overheard in Laramie, Wyo., in 
1903, and pertinent now that the great portray er of 
horses and wild life has passed away.) 

1 ' I KNOWED the man," the uncouth ranger said, 

1 And " cinched" his horse the while his mem'ry fed 
On other days before the West's retreat; 
"I knowed the man — he wa'n't like tenderfeet 
Are apt to be, but seemed to me he knowed 
Our country here, as well as us, an' showed 
A likin', too. But ban-in' that, of course 
I liked him most because he loved a horse. 

"I packed him once from here t' Sixty Mile, 
To Woods's Forks — ol' waterhole — the while 
He dabbed around with brushes made o' hair 
T' paint a fight that never happened there 
As far 's I know, 'twixt cavalry an' Snakes, 
'Bout one t' ten — with waterhole the stakes! 
An' lookin' on it struck me purty well 
That cavalry was plum invitin* hell! 

"He pitchered men all doubled up — an' dead — 
With rifles jammed, an' life blood runnin' red 
Around the sand! 'T was awful, but I swear 
It seemed t' me he never turned a hair 

61 



62 Frederic Remington 

Through all of it, until he come t' draw 
A wounded horse, an' lookin' on I saw 
His eyes fill up! 'T was foolishness of course, 
An yit it showed how much he loved a horse!" 

And now he 's dead! The last paint tube is dried! 

He 's passed the crest, and down the Other Side 

In Indian file with trapper and with scout 

And long-passed types he sketched and wrote about. 

Posterity will pass the old-time trail 

For time to come, and may it never fail 

To heed the lines — the simple lines that tell 

"A man lies here who loved God's creatures well.'' 1 



'LIGE HAWKINS FIDDLIN' UP YENDER. 

LIGE HAWKINS' place is yender on that little rise 
o' ground — 
The house with all the flowers an' the trumpet vines 

around — 
Whilst I adjoin to Hawkins on that crooked fence y' 

see 
A-kitterin' way ofl yenderwards; 'twixt Hawkins' 

farm an' me 
Is more 'n a mile I reckin, but when dusk begins to go, 
An 'Lijah takes his fiddle down an' tromps her dancing 

bow, 
The distance seems V shorten 'til if you should judge 

by ear 
You 'd swear it wa'n't ten paces, an' that 'Lige was 

playin' here! 

It 's same ol' ringin', singin', trompin', rompin' inster- 

ment 
He used t' tote wherever the Potomac Arm} 7 went, 
Fer 'Lijah was a "Bucktail" in the Army — so was I — 
An' someway 'Lijah's fiddle seems a comrade mighty 

nigh! 
There 's times the night is quiet when I like to have 

him git 
His fiddle down an' string it an' go traipsin' over it, 

63 



64 'Lige HawKins Fiddlin' Up Yender 

An* hear him play the pieces that he used t' play, be- 
cause 
They sort o' set me thinkin' of the time the Army was ! 

There 's sumthin' in his fiddlin' an' the starlight over- 
head 

That takes me back to yender, an' the campfires 
flicker red 

Through 'Lijah's apple orchard, an' I see the Georgia 
boys 

We fit in Spottsylvany, an' I hear the battle noise — 

Then softly draps the music like a dadburned fiddle 
can, 

An' I hear the pickets banterin' across the Rapidan — 

I hear my comrades singin' an' their laughin', like as 

not, 
An' Mem'ry brings the faces that I 'd mighty nigh 

f ergot ! 

• ••••• 

Then suddenlike I 'm rousin' to the crickets' chirr and 

cheep, 
An' 'Lige has quit his fiddlin' an' I know I 've been f 

sleep! 
Then jist as sure as taxes ma begins t' rant an' scold : 

II Come in the house this minnit or you '11 ketch yer death 

o' cold!" 



THE STREET THAT LEADS TO HOME. 

IN Home Again Street, 
Where the arching maples meet 
O'er a way resounding with the children's laughter 

sweet ; 
Where a host of girls and boys, 
And a bedlam of noise, 
Fill the street with pleasure and companionship and 

joys; 
Happy is the man who finds it — 
Sweeter still, the tie that binds it 
If he hears a welcome sweet 
In the pattering little feet! 



In Home Again Street, 

Where the golden days retreat 

Softly, midst the shadows where the kindly maples 

meet ; 
Peopled by its boys and girls — 
Flash of gingham, glint of curls, 
Laughter sweet as water tumbling o'er a bed of pearls! 
Skies smile sweeter up above it — 
Even twilight seems to love it, 
So reluctantly it dies 
When it's time for lullabyes. 
s 65 



66 Trie Street THat Leads to Home 

In Home Again Street! 

Where the sweetest fancies meet, 

Growing real and happy 'neath the spell of welcome 

sweet ; 
Gone the cares and everything! 
Here a man becomes a king, 
Happy with the greetings that his little subjects 

bring; 
Favored is the man who finds it! — 
Sweeter still, the tie that binds it 
If the pattering feet that come 
Lead him to the throne of home! 



A FACE IN A CROWD. 

'HP WAS only a glimpse of a tired face 

1 As the hurrying crowd went by — 
A woman caught in the gold-mad race 
That comes and goes in the market-place 

Where bartering traders ply — 
A face betraying the tear-drop's stain 

And saddened by tears unwept, 
With bloodless lips that bespoke the pain 

Of promises never kept. 

The brow was white as a marble brow, 

With lustreless eyes, and hair 
That seemed entwined with the thorny bough 
That Fate, in its mystery, seems to vow 

The patient and weak must wear; 
The cheek was sunken and deathly gray — 

Once fair as the fairest one — 
And seemed to long in a maiden's way 

For a kiss of the April sun. 

'T was only a glimpse of a tired face 

As the hurrying crowd went by — 
A face bereft of its charm and grace 
And set to drift in the market-place, 

Where bartering traders ply; 
Yet Hope, Desire, and Faith were there — 

Not even the sad disguise 
Could hide the trust and the whispered prayer, 

And the far-away look in her eyes! 

67 



THE PRICE. 

THE days we knew nothing and yet knew so much ! 
When slow- going Time moved along on a crutch 
And did n't fly past as it flies past us now, 
Nor pause by our side to put frost on our brow. 

The days of our faith when the flowers had souls, 
The moon was of cheese and the stars were but holes, 
The rim of the world was just over the wood, 
And fairies brought rabbits to boys who were good. 

When lightning-bugs all carried wicks in their tails, 
And hairs turned to snakes in the cattle barn pails ; 
When uncles were better than fathers by far, 
And aunts always lived by a brown cookie jar. 

The days of our faith when we knew what we knew 
And all things were true — well, because they were true! 
The days we knew nothing and yet knew so much — 
Ah, would n't we trade our To-morrows for such? 

The days of our faith ! They have gone from us now, 
So quickly and quiet we scarcely know how! 
We 've reached our estate though a price it has cost, 
And part of the price is the faith we have lost. 

68 



A DESERTED CABIN. 



WHEREVER you may be, my lad, wherever you 
may be, 
Who played around this cabin home and loved it ten- 
derly — 
Wherever you have wandered now, my fancy seems 

to say 
You 're weary of your aimless quest and think of home 
to-day. 



The sighing breezes plead with me to go and seek you 

out, 
And tell you how the trumpet vines are rioting about, 
Of how the buds are blossoming and drifting o'er the 

thatch, 
And tendrils twine a friendly hold around the drooping 

latch. 

The place is old and crumbling, lad, and going bit by 

bit, 
And shattered is the lofty oak that used to shelter it ; 
The mountain moss, so timid once, has ventured to 

the door 
And climbed the stone and sagging sill and crossed 

the puncheon floor. 

69 



70 A Deserted Cabin 

The crickets sing around the hearth where once the 

ruddy glare 
Was heightened by the brighter glow of happy faces 

there ; 
And bees, nigh drunk with stolen sweets, go humming 

in and out 
Where once the oaken rafters rang with children's 

merry shout. 

And yet, despite its doddering age the sentiment re- 
mains — 

To-day I paused beside the door and heard the sweet 
refrains 

Of simple songs, the children's glee, and something 
seemed to say 

A kindly word of you, my lad — of you who went 
away. 

Though we are strangers, each to each, and ever aot 

to be, 
For many miles may lie between, the mountains or 

the sea — 
Wherever you may be, my lad, however lonely, too, 
'T will cheer you, lad, to know to-day the cabin 

breathed of you. 



SPRING IN THE COUNTRY AND TOWN. 

<r ~PWIXT the narrow city alley and the smiling 

1 country lane, 
There 's the difference of beauty and of Nature's sweet 

refrain — 
There 's the difference of blossoms and the pungent 

smell of earth, 
And of orchard green and laughter and of hearts at- 
tuned to mirth; 
In the one there 's din of traffic, in the other fancies 

sing- 
That 's the difference 'twixt the alley and the country 
lane in spring. 



Yet above the narrow alley, on a dingy window ledge, 

Blooms a flower just as pretty as beside a country 
hedge — 

Comes a splash of sun as golden and a glimpse of 
spring as fair 

As the poets find worth rhyming in the country any- 
where ; 

Throwing kisses from her fingers, with a merry, mad 
refrain, 

Spring goes singing through the alley just the same as 
through the lane! 

71 



THE ONLY FRIENDS. 

IN spring when things are dreamy-like an* summer 
when they 're bright, 
'Most everything 's a friend of mine that does n't sting 

or bite ; 
A hollyhock or medderlark or jist an' ellum tree, 
Or anything that grows or blooms kin be a friend t' 
me; 
But law — law — law — 
When the wind 's a-blowin' raw 
An' the chill of February seems t' somehow gee an' 

haw, 
Then I 'm mighty free t* tell y' that a pine or maple 

knot 
A-blazin' in the fire is the only friend I got ! 

I swan, there 's nothin' like it on a chisley winter's 

night, 
With sparks a-shootin' upwards from the flames 

a-blazin' bright — 
The shadders dancin' crossways of the rafters an' the 

floor, 
An' reachin' up the table legs or climbin' up the door — 
An' law — law — law — 
But the wind blows cold an' raw, 
I declare each February is the worst I ever saw ! — 

72 



TKe Only Friends 73 

Jist the worst that I remember ! — an' a pine or maple 

knot 
A-blazin' in the fire is the only friend I got! 

An' whilst I set an' ponder-like an' watch the shadders 

flit 
I feel or age a-creepin' an' the flames they whisper it — 
They say I 'm growin' frosty like the February day, 
An' in the flames are faces of the friends that 's gone 
away — 
An* law — law — law — 
Don't the wind blow chill an' raw! 
0, it alius makes my feelin's seem t' somehow gee an* 

haw 
When I look upon the faces in the blazin' of the knot, 
Them dead, forgotten faces of the only friends I got! 



THE TWO BARRIERS. 

JUST an 6V time "hee-cup" tune on some one's 
violin — 
Somethin' as the savin* is, that 's "got the devil in,'* 
That 's the kind o ; tune I heerd the other day in town — 
If it had n't been I had my feelin's battened down, 
Lordy, I 'd o' cut 'er loose an' danced 'er, drat my 

pelts ! — 
Danced 'er with my shadder if there was n't nothin' 

else! 
Danced it like I used t' dance it with Elviry Hicks, 
'Fore I got religion — an' the roomatics. 

Might o' been "Gray Eagle" an' it might o' been 

"Zip Coon"— 
I ain't much on music, could n't carry on a tune, 
Line a hymn ner nothin' like a lot o' people kin — 
I kin only feel it, an' the deviltry that 's in 
Every note an' measure that the fiddler kin saw 
Alius starts me goin', as the sayin' is, an' law 
How I hankered yesterday t' try ol' dancin' tricks, 
'Fore I got religion — an' the roomatics. 

Good ol' fashioned music from a fiddle's friendly 

strings, 
Raspin' on my mem'ries of old harvest days an' 

things — 

74 



THe Two Barriers 75 

Squawkin' out reminders of the harvest days when we 
Balanced on the corners an' we swung etarnally! 
Conjur'n' up old faces of the folks that I 'd fergot 
Twenty years ago or more! — of me, as like as not, 
Dancin' down the centre set with Miss Elviry Hicks, 
'Fore I got religion — an' the roomatics. 

That 's the kind o' music I heerd yesterday in town! 
Seemed as if my heart went up an' scruples they went 

down 
Thirty-five below, or more, an' law I ached t' sling 
Off my Baptist yoke again an' have another fling! 
Then my conscience poked me up an' sort o' says — 

says he: 
"Eb, that would n't coincide with churchly dignity!" 
So I cooled my heels because I 've given up them 

tricks, 
Since I got religion — an' the roomatics! 



THE MAN WHO USED TO KNOW YOU WHEN 
YOU DID N'T HAVE A CENT. 

I'VE been to Philadelfy seein' Henry Abner Brown, 
Who used to live in Swazy 'fore he up an' moved 
to town 
An' sold his latest patent that, aside from lawyers' 

fees, 
Brung half a million dollars an' perpetual royal- 
ties ! 
I 'd pitchered Henry spryer than he used to be, but no, 
He 's twenty-five years older than he was a year ago ! 
His jowl 's a leetle fuller an' he 's dimmer in the eye 
Than when we used to know him 'fore his hat was 

built so high. 
"It ain't the wealth," he whispered sort o' sorrowful 

to me, 
"Nor yet a poor digestion, Bill; but how 'd you like," 

says he, 
"To hear some feller tellin' folks most every place y' 

went 
Of how he used to know y' when y* did n't have a 

cent?" 

He met me at the depo an' he hollered "Howdy-do!" 
An' "Where 's that plug terbacker that you alius used 
to chew?" 

76 



THe Man WT-io Used to ftnow You 77 

An' "Could y' spare a chew of it?" an' then he took 

my hand 
An* led me to the inn'ards of his palace rich an' 

grand. 
'T was rilled with lots o' pitchers by a feller name o' 

Payne 
(An* Henry's wife had hid 'em on the Louie Mezzy- 

naine, 
But gosh, I could n't blame her!) an' the fiirniture — 

my law ! — 
I 'low it was the richest that a body ever saw ! 
"I know it 's mighty purty," Henry says, "but Bill," 

says he, 
" I never pull my latch string that I don't expect t' see 
Some feller gazin' on 'em with a buzzard-like content, 
An' tellin' how he knowed me when I did n't have a 

cent!" 

"It 's pleasin'," Hank confided, "when you do what 

I have done — 
An' hear the people's plaudits an' you know at last 

you 've won! 
It 's mighty satisfyin' when you hear 'em shout your 

name, 
An' mighty easy ridin' in the Chariot of Fame ; 
You sort o' git to reelin' with the aim that you have 

kep', 
As if you 'd been a-drinkin' an' was kind o' out o' step ! 
Unless you 're more than human then you '11 take to 

swellin' just 
The same as pouter pigeons 'til it seems you 're goin' 

to bust, 



78 THe Man WHo Used to Rnow You 

An 1 then regret you did n't for you're apt to change your 

tune 
An' just collapse together, like a county fair balloon, 
When things are at their zenith, 'cause you 're apt to 

hear a gent 
A-tellin' how he knew y' when y' did n't have a cent ! " 

• »•••« 

An' back from Philadelphy I 've been thinkin' quite a 

lot 
On whether I would like to be a millionaire or not, 
With lots of ottermobiles an' a private car beside, 
An' lots o' costly pitchers that a body has t' hide ! 
I 've just about concluded that I 'd ruther stay at hum 
With Myry an' our kith an' kin, an' all the rest of 'em, 
Unless, along with wealth, I 'd find a way to circum- 
vent 
The men who used to know me when I did n't have a 
cent! 



POST-MEETIN' NIGHT. 

NOT all the summers yit to come, 
Nor all the sun or Aprile rain, 
Kin lighten years so burdensome 

An' bring a young heart back again: 
For age is age, an' gray is gray, 

I reckon that 's ordained for man, 
Yit gran'pa seems to Ve found a way 

T' circumvent the mortul plan. 
I swan, it seems his youth comes back 
An' law, he steps as spry an' light 
As thistledown, when gram'ma she 
Puts on his woollen scarf, an' he 
Goes off t' town Post-meetin' Night ! 



They meet in ol' Grand Army Hall, 

An' as for formal business, jest 
Dispense with that — don't even call 

The roll, for reasons they know best ! 
They set around ol' box wood-stove 

An' puff their pipes, like soldiers kin, 
Until the smoke curls up above 

An' weaves their battle fancies in; 
They see ol' Pickett charge once more, 

79 



80 Post-Meetin* Night 

Or Mosby dash or Forrest fight, — 
Or Pope vamoose, or Jackson fall — 
They see an' recollect it all 

Around the stove Post-meetin' Night. 

There 's Tophet of the Bucktail Boys — 

An' lawsey, how that reg'ment fit! 
An' Marsden of the 8th Illinois — 

Confiderates respect 'em yit! 
There 's Vet an' Hi an' Abner Schides, 

An' Captain Fornes an' Herman Kloph- 
Brung home more bullets in their hides 

Than lots o' fellers fired off! 
They 're all that 's left, yit they explain 

Attendance bein' ruther light 

By sayin' this or that one 's gone 
Or "there 's so much a-goin' on 

T' interfere, Post-meetin' Night." 

Not all the summers yit t' come 

Kin cheer 'em like these meetin's does, 
For things have growed so burdensome 

Since Sixties when the army was; 
There 's nothin' else that sort o' stays 

Their speerits like these meetin's do; 
An* though a grateful nation pays, 

Or pensions 'em — an' willuV to — 
The biggest pension check they draw 

Is when they gather there an' fight 
01' battles o'er, an' gas an' talk 
An' make ol' Lee an' Jackson walk 

The chalk again, Post-meetin' Night. 



OL' TIN-PEDDLIN' MAN. * 

BOUNDIN' which-an'-tother side along the County 
Road, 
Pots an' pans a-rattlin' on his combynation load — 
Travellin' in a cloud o' dust like a circus does — 
Smilin' face was redder than his peddlin' wagon was; 
OF fermiliar feller — an' we used t' like him, too — 
Knowed him by his first name all the county through, 
Most like County Sheriff, an' I guess, if truth was 

knowed, 
He was twict as poplar all along the County Road ! 
"Barter fer wash- wool, 
Spareribs or sides — 
Gingshang an' peppers, 

Chickens an' hides; 
Trade y' some drygoods, 

Kittles or pans — " 
That was the cry of 
Tin-peddlin' man's! 

Ever* thing for barter that a body ever saw ! 
Stewin' pan for mother an' a Barlow knife for pa, 
Ribbons for Serepty an' a breastpin made o' pearl — 
Somethin' for the hired man an' for the orphant girl ; 
Ever'one got somethin' an' it left a balance, too, 
Which we took in candy like the childern alius do! 

81 



82 Or Tin-Peddlm Man 

Then he 'd up an' leave us — on along the County 

Road — 
Faint an' fainter sounded, 'bove the rattle of his load, 
"Barter fer wash- wool, 
Sparerib or sides — 
Gingshang an' peppers, 

Chickens an' hides; 
Trade y' some drygoods, 

Kittles or pans — " 

Faint come the song of 

Tin-peddlin' man's. 

County Road is diflurnt now, it 's changed a mortul 

heap — 
Folks I knowed have flitted an' the past has gone to 

sleep ; 
Folks are livin' scrumptouser, in houses mighty fine — 
Houses they got marrit in, they 've moved 'em out 

behin' ! 
Or tin-peddlin' wagon never comes around to-day — 
Tourin' keers — oddrot 'em — seem t' have the right o' 

way! 
Yit, when I 'm a-musin' in my friendly easy cheer, 
Back of all their splutter an' their buzzin' I kin hear: 
" Barter fer wash-wool, 
Sparerib or sides — 
Gingshang an' peppers, 

Chickens an' hides; 
Trade y' some drygoods 

Kittles or pans — " 
Back comes the song of 
Tin-peddlin 1 man's! 



w 



THE PERFECT HOME. 



ITHIN this home there is not room for care- 



No darkened corners where it thrives the best ; 
Some other home may better suit care's quest 
But here, alas, is sunshine everywhere! 

There is no path by which the spectre, gloom, 

May reach the hearth and spread its sombre frown, 
Since, coming here, it must needs follow down 

The garden path and lose itself in bloom. 

There is no welcome here, day come and gone, 
For woe and tears their wretched tales to pour — 
They pass it by since close beside the door, 

The blossoms sway and gayly wave them on. 

There is no place for sorrowing age among 
The chimney seats, for childhood ruleth here; 
The smiles of youth, the childsongs loud and clear, 

And silvery laughter make the old heart young. 

There is not room for woe to seek its vent 

As woe might seek within the homes of some — 
Not room, indeed, for lo, this humble home 

Is crowded now with love and sweet content. 

83 



TO THE HALFWAY HOUSE AGAIN. 

" TINGLE bells, jingle bells—" ain't it funny how 
\J That song '11 set me dreamin' an* reflecting even 

now — 
Sets me smokin' harder, jist like worryuV will do, 
Untwell I scortch my whiskers an' the livin' room gits 

blue! 
Smoke weaves in an' out'ards into pitchers fine an* 

quaint, 
An' purtier, I reckin, than a artist chap could paint — 
Giner'lly of bobsleds with some gals an' fellers in 
A-slippin' down the turnpike to the Halfway House 

agin! 

Winter in the city? Well, I reckin it 's the same 

As winter in the country, in its temper'ture an* 

name — 
Boys and gals a-sleighin' on a clare an' crispy night, 
Why, I kin hear 'em singin' past my winder as I write ; 
But there 's somethin' missin' in the way of fun an' 

cheer 
In sort o' sleighin' parties that the folks enjoys here — 
Somethin' sort o' lackin' — makes me want to call 'em 

in 
An' bid 'em all a-sleighin' to the Halfway House agin ! 

84 



To tHe Halfway House Again 85 

Wa'n't no omnybusses with their patent runners! — 

law, 
'T was nothin' but a bobsled with the box filled up 

with straw 
Covered up with laprobes, jist as soft as down, it 

seems, 
An' snaked along the turnpike by the champeen 

county teams ! 
Room fer everybody 'twell it crowded so, I jocks, 
Some boy without a sweetheart had t' hold the fiddle 

box — 
Guess we 'd have t' dovetail or t' sort o' wedge 'em in 
If we should go a-sleighin' to the Halfway House agin ! 

Phillips boys an' Murray Moore an' " Chick" an' 

"Shorty," too, 
An' Fuller an' the Merket boy, an' Ralph an' Ford an' 

Lou 
Heard, an' they was brothers, too, who since they 've 

captured Fame 
Kin write the whole durned alphabet behind their 

shingle name! 
As for girls who used t' go, well, really there is times 
When beauty gits too beautiful t' sing in common 

rhymes — 
Jist defies the Muses! — like the gals we used t' know 
An' use t' take a-sleighin' 'bout a dozen years ago. 

"Jingle bells, jingle bells — " how that ol' refrain 
Comes back an' gits t' tappin' on a feller's winder 
pane, 



86 To tHe Halfway House Again 

Like it did this evenin', when 't was wafted clare an' 

sweet 
From sleighin' parties passin' in the dadburned city 

street ! 
Ma laid down her sewin' an' — well, I laid down my 

pen, 
An' both of us set listenin' ' til it faded out, an' then 
We set sort o' quiet whilst our fancies wallered in 
A moonlight night an' sleighin' to the Halfway House 

agin! 



THE LITTLE THINGS. 

THE little things — the kindly words and deeds 
That one may say and do yet seldom does, 
The word of cheer some toiling brother needs 
That we withhold and never speak because 
We did n't think! 'T would turn his day to gold, 
Repaying us in cheer ten thousand fold ! 

The little things — a baby's tiny shoe, 

The toys he dropped along the rosy ways, 

A broken drum and leaden soldier too, 
All take us back to long forgotten days ; 

The greatest things we pass and then forget, 
The little things — ah, we remember yet ! 

The little things! How wrong and misapplied 
When all that 's best in Life is made of such — 

The cheering words of kindness that abide — 

The song of love that springs from Mem'ry's touch ; 

The little things in all this throbbing strife 
Are, after all, the greatest things in life! 



87 



THE LITTLE BOY FROM THE POOR FARM. 

WE used to live on the Chick-a-ree, 
My ma and pa and our dog an* me 
An' brindle calf an' a banty hen, 
'Til pa got ager an' died, an' then 
My ma died, too, an' the sheruff up 
An' held a vendoo an' sold my pup 
An' brindle calf an' my hen an' things, 
An' a man by the name o' Landrum brings 
Me up t' the village — an' he 's trustee! — 
To where the Home fer the Friendless be! 
An' last of Aprul er first o' May 
I cum out here fer t' work by day 
Fer Mister Gibbons, an' now that all 
The harvest 's over an' gittin' Fall, 
I 'm goin ' back t' the Poor Farm. 

I 've gone t' school an' I 'm turnin' ten, 
An' almost strong as the hired men; 
I 've earned my keep in a lot o' ways 
"That 's real surprising " Mis' Gibbons says; 
I 've fed the pigs an' I 've run the churn, 
An' brung the wood fer the stove t' burn, 
An' druv the cows an' I 've gone t' town 
An' brung the mail an' the groceries down, 

88 



TKe Little Boy from tKe Poor Farm 89 

An' worked the garden an' watered stock, 
An' helped with puttin' the corn in shock, 
An' helped t' cradle an' bind an' reap, 
An' worked purt' nigh 'til I fell t' sleep, 
An* never complained ner faulted none — 
But now that all o' the work is done 
I 'm goin' back t' the Poor Farm. 

I Ve liked it fine an' I like the folks — 

The hired man an' his funny jokes, 

He plays jewsharp an* he calls me "Bub" 

An' 'vites me out fer a game o' "scrub" 

When evenin' comes, an' he lets me win! 

I like my room with the fixin's in, 

An' like the dog, 'cause I learned him how 

T' snap fer meat when I hollered "Now!" 

I like the nayborhood boys an' girls, 

Espeshully her with the hangin' curls 

That never points when I 'm goin' by 

Ner hollers "You 're poor-farm boy!" an' I 

Have alius wanted to show her how 

T' make dolls' hats out o' buckeyes — now 

I-gotta-go-back-t'-the-Poor-Farm! 



THE EXD OF THE JOURNEY. 

THESE, the shoes in which I walked the ways 
O'er hills of love, through vales of sweet con- 
tent, 
By winding streams that murmured pleasant praise 

And cheerfulness, whatever way I went; 
Daisies brushed them, dews of many a dawn 

Have sprinkled them, along my early way; 
Once — long ago — a maiden bound them on 
And led me far in pleasant fields astray. 

Soft grasses touched them 'long the path of Youth, 

Sharp rocks have cut them on the stony trail, 
Hot sands have burned them on the way to Truth, 

The goal of which the stoutest heart must fail. 
Far have they gone from field to pleasant lane, 

To highway down to mart of trade and strife — 
her and yon, across and back again, 

By endless paths that make the journey, Life. 

These, the shoes, all tattered now and torn, 

Their soles worked thin by many a racking test, 
Now cast aside as far too badly worn 

For tired feet to start another quest ; 
Once I thought perhaps they still might be 

Made whole again, though far beyond their prime, 
Yet here they are, come back again to me, 

Returned as worthless by the cobbler, Time ! 

9 o 



THE EXILE FROM HOME. 

THE valley 's red and gold to-d 
And torches sign to me 
From hilltops where my fancies play 
And where I long to be. 

By imagery, my journey lies 

Through country ways, and down 

Forgotten paths in Autumn guise, 
And stubble fields of brown. 

Through silent woods my fancy strays — 

Soft-carpeted with red 
And fringed with gold the Autumn lays — 

More splendid overhead! 

Then out upon the travelled road, 

To pause and hear afar 
The creaking of the harvest load 

Where tardy garners are. 

To be alone for long, and gaze 

Upon the village blest, 
And watch it live these golden days 

In Autumn peace and rest ! 

Each cherished spot, each boyhood track, 

Each hill and flaming tree, 
Is whispering to-day ''Come back — 

Come home again, with me." 
91 



THE SEPARATION. 

AFTER I die will the order shift?— 
The sorrow wane and the shadows lift? 
Every morn will the sun come up 
A golden ball in a silver cup, 
And shed its light and its warmth to bless 
And free your heart of its loneliness, 
After I die? 

After I die will there not be on? 

To share your burden as I have done? — 
Xone of them all who will take your hand 
To sympathize and to understand 

As once I did — and to comfort you 

And strengthen as once I was wont to do, 
After I die? 

After I die will there be no face, 
Xo hand, no voice, to take my place? 
Xone to live in your happy smiles, 
And share your dreams of the afterwhiles? 
Will sadness and sorrow go on and on 
For you to meet and to bear alone, 
After I die? 

After I die! Why, the time may be 
A year — an age — an eternity 

92 



THe Separation 

Ere we shall meet— it is written so! 

And hard enough is the call to go, 
But easier far if I only knew 
That Life and all will be kind to you 
After I die! 



93 



A JOB FOR DOC SIFERS. 

(James Whitcomb Riley is seriously ill in his home 
in Indiana. — News note.) 

THE Banner says Jim Riley 's sick! — 
It says he 's had a stroke ! 
Donblame it all, as like as not that 's jist another joke 
Jim 's figgered out, an' 'bout the time we sniffle — you 

an' me — 
He '11 set it off an' have the laff on us etarnally ! 
But after all perhaps it 's true, perhaps his hand lies 

pale 
On counterpane — all tired out — an' nevermore to 

trail 
His pen concernin' homely things, nor sing their 

praise agin; 
If that 's the case I want t' vote t' call Doc Sifers in! 

Git out an' search the kentry roads for Doc — he 's 

undersized — 
'Bout five foot four — a sorrel horse — the man Jim 

'mortalized 
In poem once until we cried — a reg'lar Riley trick ! — 
An', when y' find him, head him off an' whisper "Jim 

is sick!"; 

94 



.A Job for Doc Sifers 95 

Perhaps he '11 be a-aidin' the afflicted an' the pore, 
Or bringin' one more young'un where there ain't no 

use for more — 
Donblame these doctors! — but I 'low that when he 

knows it 's Jim 
He '11 swim the roads t' reach him — that 's about the 

size o' him! 

An' then Doc Sifers — here 's our prayers — you do your 

level best, 
Try allypath an' homypath an' all the dadburned 

rest 
0' paths, until y' find the one that pulls Jim Riley 

through, 
An' brings the gratitude o' men t* you Doc Sifers — 

you! 
Jim says hisself your homespun skill can cure ever'- 

thing, 
Then give us back his smile t' cheer, his gentle voice 

t' sing 
Of famblies in old-time homes with hollyhocks about, 
An' all the other homely things we jist can't do with- 
out! 



"WHEN THE BIG HAND POINTS UPSTAIRS." 

PLAY is such a happy pastime and the romp so full 
of fun 
That the longest day is ended ere it fairly seems 

begun ; 
There 's the happy morning greeting, then the plans 

for childish play, 
And a little bit of laughter — lo, the morning 's sped 

away! 
There 's a little bit of porridge, then a little bit of nap, 
Then the fearless explorations of a roving little chap ; 
There 's so many little worries and so many little cares, 
That, before you really know it, why, the big hand 

points upstairs! 

Ho, the orchard lands are hilly and the fence so high 

to climb! — 
There 's so much a boy must conquer in so very short 

a time! 
There 's so many things to see to and so much he must 

attend, 
So many things to tinker, and so many things to 

mend ! — 
He must lead the fearless army that surrounds the 

pantry door 
Where the loot is ginger cookies for the whole brigade 

— of four ! — 

96 




" When the big hand points upstairs " 



""WHen Big Hand Points Upstairs" 97 

And so many expeditions 'gainst the Indians and 

bears, 
That it is n't strange he 's tired when the big hand 

points upstairs! 

Play your best, you little trudger; every grown-up, 

ripe with years, 
Shares your every little pleasure and your laughter 

and your tears! — 
Every bit of fun and frolic, every little childish whim 
Brings a happy thought of childhood to the weary 

heart of him. 
When your play is all behind you, and your Boyhood 's 

gone away, 
May He make your work as happy as He makes your 

day of play — 
May He sooth your griefs and troubles and relieve 

your many cares, 
And be close beside to lead you, When the Big Hand 

Points Upstairs! 

k7 



THE SUMMER EVENING. 

THE long summer's evening in Home Again street, 
The bubble of laughter and shuffle of feet — 
Of little feet wearied with journeys to-day 
Afar in the pastures of wonder and play; 
The glint of a frock and the gold of a curl, 
The shy, happy glance of a boy or a girl, 
A tryst on the curb 'twixt a quaint little two 
For all like the lovers in story books do. 

The long summer's evening when little ones greet 
The toil-wearied people in Home Again street, 
And lighten their hearts with a smile and a press 
Of Youth's pudgy hand and a childish caress ; 
The hearts that are heavy grow lighter again, 
And sweeter grows Life than it ever has been — 
Why even the teamster, perched high and alone, 
Is urged along faster to home and his own. 

The long summer evenings — the shadows unreal 
That creep from the West to the tree-tops and steal 
'Cross sidewalks and pavements and wander away 
To warn little children an end to their play; 
The hush and the gloom and the whispered "good- 
nights"— 
The promise of fun and to-morrow's delights, 
And then like the end of a sweet, singing verse, 
The lamplighter comes and the children disperse. 

98 



THE LONE GRAVE IN THE SHENANDOAH. 

BEYOND the ridge the pike wends down 
Where once the lines of battle met, 
Through Berryville and Middletown 

Where scars of warfare moulder yet — 
Where empty sills stare out upon 
The ragged columns passed and gone. 

Past little hamlets, gray and old, 
Where Early fought one fateful day, 

Now set in summer's green and gold, 

Where fair-haired children romp and play — 

Where ivy bravely casts its shade 

To hide the scars that hatred made. 

At length it seems to pause before 

A gray, old-fashioned home where May 

Spreads roses 'round the open door, 
And, when she 's in a mood to play, 

She scatters petals on a grave 

Beneath the trees where grasses wave. 

U A soldier's grave," the house- wife sighs — 

An aged woman, bent and gray, 
Who once beheld with those same eyes 

Invading armies pass her way, 
99 



ioo Lone Grave in tHe Shenandoah 

And bore within her woman's heart 
The hate that was a woman's part. 

"A soldier, sir — the Nineteenth Corps — 
They 'd fallen back when Early came; 

He straggled here before our door 
Too weak and ill to give his name — 

Too sick to follow with his own, 

And here he died — with us — alone — " 

To-day does some one sigh and weep — 
In all the world is one who 'd care 

To stoop above him in his sleep 
And place a bud or blossom there? 

Does some one long to place a rose 

Upon her soldier's grave? Who knows? 

And knowing not, so May assumes 
The kindly task, and bends her knee 

To scatter Springtime's fairest blooms 
With lavish hand, and seemingly 

They blossom sweeter o'er the head 

Of some one's unknown, sainted dead ! 



SOMETIME. 

SOMETIME we will go, we say, 
Where the old true friends await, 
Hopeful that some happy day 

They may greet us at the gate ; 
Future whispers soft and low: 
"Sometime — sometime — we shall go!" 

Sometime we will speak, we say, 
Little words we left unsaid 

That might brighten some one's way — 
Some one's way that 's dark instead, 

Some kind word to help the weak 

Sometime — sometime — we shall speak. 

Sometime we will do, we say, 

Something we have left undone — 

Small, obscure in its way, 

Save to some poor toiling one; 

This we promise, fair and true, 

Sometime — sometime — we shall do. 

Sometime we will wake and know 

Opportunity has fled, 
Gone the friends of long ago — 

Needless are the words unsaid, 
For, as Time computes her sums, 
Sometimes Sometime never comes! 

IOI 



DEFYIN' AFFLICTION. 

BIDE APPLEBEE of Swazy— law, 
The blamedest man I ever saw ! 
In spite of his afflictions he 
Is happy-like as he kin be ! 
He 's got the roomaticks, an' is 

So cross-eyed in his eyesight, sort o', 
That once he paid two mortgages 

Instead o' one, like what he 'd ort o' ! 

"It 's in the knack/' he 'd alius low, 

"Of bein' happy, anyhow, 

In spite o' trubbles, small or great, 

The Lord sees fit t' visitate; 

Me bein' cross-eyed, as I be, 

I overlook a heap o* trubble, 
But cheerfulness," he says — says he, 

"Why natcherly I see it double" 



102 



"A HOPELESS DEBTOR. 

THREE creditors I have — one fair, 
And one with locks of nut-brown hair, 
And one — God bless his little poll! — 
Who cannot boast of hair at all! 
Three creditors with artful schemes, 
Who walk with me and haunt my dreams — 
Forever do they cross my sight 
And dun me morning, noon, and night. 

The one I owe for loving ways 
That cheer her daddy's lonely days, 
And one for merry laughs that spill 
And make the bright days brighter still; 
And one, the little bug-eyed tad, 
Because he chose me for his dad — 
Because he seeks my arms, I guess, 
And trusts me in his helplessness. 

I owe them all, for love and play, 
A greater sum than I can pay; 
Though life were twice the span it is, 
And all my acts were kindnesses 
To them, I 'd be their debtor yet — 
Man cannot owe more hopeless debt, 
Save that he owes to Him above, 
Than when he owes a debt to Love! 

103 



HOMESICK. 

WHEN wanderlust gets in your blood and leads 
you far away 
Among a people strange, perhaps — perhaps across 
the sea; 
When all the novelty wears off and sights become 
passe, 
And you 're about as homesick as a mortal man can 
be; 
When you would walk or swim or fly, or anything you 
could, 
To get back home, or willingly give all you have to 
give, 
Now, honest, don't it cheer you up and set you feeling 
good, 
To meet a man who knows a man who comes from 
where you live? 



You talk about the smallest thing that marks the 
absentee — 
His beard, his gait, his speech, his ways, that mole 
upon his nose, 
For precious hours you discuss each eccentricity 
That marks the man, and criticise his special cut of 
clothes ; 

104 



HomesicK 105 

You split a many a quart of wine until your purse is 
slim, 
And resolutions you have made are tattered as a 
sieve ; 
But what 's the odds if wine does flow, there 's naught 
too good for him, 
For he 's a man who knows a man who comes from 
where you live. 

He may not be the sort of man you 'd cotton to at 
home! 
He may affect atrocious clothes and not be worth 
his salt, 
He may not have a lofty thought beneath his wretched 
dome, 
But who are you that you should note each trifling 
little fault? 
Ah, well you know you would not care how many 
faults might show — 
Deficiencies that he may have you willingly for- 
give! — 
Nostalgia will level all, and all you care to know 
Is he 's a man who knows a man who comes from 
where you live ! 



TO A CHILD. 

SOMETIME, child, when you are turning gray, 
As I am now, and little children play 
Around your chair as you are playing here, 
You '11 understand and then forgive the tear 
That fell just now upon your chubby hand; 
Sometime, child — well, you will understand! 

Sometime, child, when you are older grown, 

You '11 understand why father mused alone 

In twilight hours, while you were at your play — 

Why, jealously, he watched each truant ray 

Of sun that came and searched your nursery place 

To kiss your curls and glorify your face. 

Sometime, child, when little children bless 

Your golden days, my wanton selfishness 

Will then be plain, and then, child, you will know 

Why father used to importune you so 

To leave your land of happy fairy lore 

For his grim land, to romp with him once more. 

Sometime, child! 'T is written so to be, 
A child will be as you are now to me; 
And Time will fly as ever Time has flown 
Since Time began — and Time will claim its own! 
You '11 reach in vain to take the baby's hand — 
' T is only then that you will understand ! 

106 



THE LITTLE OLD MAN WITH THE 
RAGGEDY DOLL. 

AN odd little chap with his far-away eyes, 
His old-fashioned ways, and his solemn replies 
That ludicrous seemed to his elders, and more 
Becoming to Age than to Boyhood of four! 
How quaint he appeared as he ambled in play 
Or trudged on the heels of the darkening day ! 
No wonder I paused in my hurry to call 
Him Little Old Man with the Raggedy Doll. 

At end of the day 't was our fortune to meet 
Alone in the shadows of Home- Again Street, 
And gravely salute in the manner of those 
Who people the Story-Book Land, I suppose. 
"O-ho!" I 'd exclaim "I 'm a gi-unt, I be, 
And all little boys best skedaddle from me! 
And who are you? " Then he 'd pipe up so small, 
"I 'se 'ittle or man with the raggedy doll." 

Now summer and autumn have withered away, 
And winter has summoned the children from play, 
But night after night, through the sleet and the rain, 
I 've harked for his greeting — a rap on the pane — 
And looked for his face and his little tow head, 
All bathed in the light that the lamp overshed,. 
And happy have been in his welcoming call — 
The Little Old Man with the Raggedy Doll. 

107 



ioS Little Old Man with a Raggedy Doll 

But yesterday eve as I breasted the sleet 

And snow and the rain into Home- Again Street, 

A hush was upon it — the sky overcast — 

A little white hearse went a-glistening past — 

The sky seemed to turn and the world stricken dumb, 

And all of the phantoms of June seemed to come 

To wonder with me why the angels must call 

The Little Old Man with the Raggedy Doll! 



THE CHURCH AT WEBBSES' CORNERS. 

WHEN the organ peals an' thunders an' the high- 
price singers screech 
On a tune called "obligattar" way beyond the angels' 

reach, 
An' a holler-chested parson starts t' wrassle with a 

brand 
Of a new an' strange religion that I never under- 
stand — 
Of a new an' strange religion teachin' mortuls how 

they kin 
Dodge His teachin's for convenience then ketch step 

with God agin — 
Then I alius git t* noddin' an' t' sort o' dreamin'- 

like 
Of the church at Webbses' Corners on the Jackson 

Valley pike. 



Through the atmosphere of fashion an' perfumery an* 

show 
Comes a soothin' dream, an' pitcher, of a church I used 

t' know, 
Where they had n't ary steeple settin' straddle of the 

peak, 
Where the parson preached on Sundays an' he farmed 

the rest the week, 

109 



no The GH\ircH at Webbses' Corners 

Where they wa'n't no colored winders where the sun 

could filter through 
Deckin' folks in "gold an' purple" long before they y d 

orter do! 
Nary choir, pew, ner organ there, ner ennything that 's 

like, 
In the church at Webbses' Corners on the Jackson 

Valley pike. 

When the parson eased his gallus an' lit into "Jesus 

Wept!"— 
Well they ain't no livin' record that a body ever slept ! 
Ner they ain't no livin' record of his gittin' through 

'fore one — 
" Savin' souls," he alius argyed, "is a hull day's job er 

nun!" 
Then the services would taper an' Miss Lindy Janes 

would line, 
Whilse Serepty 'd start 'em singing "There's a Land 

of Corn an' Wine"— 
Seemed f me the angels jined 'em an' that Heaven's 

chimes would strike 
In the church at Webbses' Corners on the Jackson 

Valley pike! 

Then we 'd wander slowly home'ards through the 

fields an' through the woods, 
With the smilin' world around us preachin' sermons 

jist as good 's 
What a city preacher preaches, or could preach y* 

if he tried 



THe Church at Webbses' Corners ill 

Though he mebbe gits four thousan' an' his winter's 
wood beside! 

• ••... 

Here I have t' quit my musin' cause a man with rubber 

shoes 
Pokes a basket on a handle in around amongst the 

pews — 

Nothin' like 

That 'ere church at Webbses' Corners on the Jackson 

Valley pike! 



WHEN MOTHER 'S AWAY. 

WHEN mother f s away from the children and me, 
Nefarious schemes we contrive for our fun; 
The Oldest, the Youngest and Quarter-Past-Three 

Let riot obtain as we seldom have done ; 
We ride a cock-horse way to Banbury cross — 
The furniture meets irreparable loss, 
And everything 's scattered awry and a- toss, 

And conscience and candor compel me to say 
Our house is the noisest under the sun 

When mother 's away ! 

When mother 's away and our tea time is nigh 

We gather at table in solemn estate, 
The wee little three little children and I, 

And never were diners more prim and sedate ! 
But one little girlie shuns crumpets and tea, 
And one little girlie "ain't hungry, 'oo see," 
And oddly enough it is true of all three, 

And even I, I am willing to say, 
Just wearily drum on the rim of my plate 

When mother 's away. 

When mother 's away and their bed hour chimes, 
They gather around and they ask me for all 

The fables and stories and nursery rhymes 
That fondest of fathers could ever recall ! — 

112 




" When Mother 's away 



When MotKer 's Away 113 

The one of the Prince and his wonderful snail — 
The sailor who rode on the back of a whale — 
With only one ear on the trend of the tale, 

The other ear open and listening that they 
Can hear her dear step on the stair in the hall, 

When mother's away! 



UNDER THE EVENING LAMP. 

"F^\ADDY, where does the summertime go?" 

l-J "Go ask your ma!" 
"What would we have if we did n't have snow?" 

"Go ask your ma!" 
"How do they put all the pits into plums?" 
"Santy Claus makes all the dollies and drums, 
Don't he, pa?" "Why ain't our fingers all thumbs? " 

"Go ask your ma!" 

"Why is the pigs' tails all twisty and curled?" 

"Go ask your ma!" 
"Why don't we never fall off of the world?" 

"Go ask your ma." 
"Don't people never breathe nothin' but air?" 
"Where does the shadows go, up on the stair, 
When there ain't nothin' nor nobody there?" 

"Go ask your ma!" 

"Who was the very first parunts of all?" 

"Go ask your ma!" 
"Did n't they never have parunts at all?" 

"Go ask your ma!" 
"How did it happen that you come to stay 
Here in our house with our ma every day? 
Which of you started it anyway? Say?" 

"Go ask your ma!" 

114 



TO LITTLE HALF-PAST FOUR. 

TO-DAY 'S the first I ever knew 
That poppies bloom in winter too, 
Or ever cast their ruddy glow 
Above the mantle of the snow. 

And yet to-day a bloom as red 
As ever raised its pretty head 
And gazed into the summer sky, 
Was raised to me as I passed by. 

Its sturdy stem was white with snow, 
And seemed to quite reflect the glow 
Of rosy cheeks, and over that 
It wore a pretty crimson hat. 

"What ho!" I laughed with much surprise 
And rubbed my old deceiving eyes, 
"Do poppies bloom in winter, too?" 
And then I saw the bloom was you/ 

The bloom was you, and quite as fair, 
A-nodding in your snowbed there, 
As any that the fairies bring 
And tumble in the lap of spring! 

115 



IN GRANDPA'S EYES. 

WHAT is it you see in your grandpa's eyes, 
Little child, 
When night-time comes and the sunshine dies, 
You lead him there to the hearth's red glow 
And beg for the tales of the Long Ago — 
What is it, aside from your golden hair 
And smiling face, that 's reflected there, 
Little child? 

Can'st see nothing back of your face so sweet, 

Little child? 
Can'st not see the swing of the soldiers' feet — 
The long blue line and its crest of steel 
That rises and falls as the columns wheel — 
The tears and the woe and the sad good-byes? 
Can'st not see it all in your grandpa's eyes, 

Little child? 

A mem'ry, too sad for your tender years, 

Little child, 
Is pictured there through your grandpa's tears; 
The two long lines of the Blue and the Gray — 
The fight, and the end of the blood -bought day— 
The trenches deep with the soldiers lost — 
Ah, grandpa knows what the victory cost, 

Little child! 

116 



In Grandpa's Eyes 117 

A fairer dream in his eyes, I see, 

Little child, 
Denied to you, little Half-Past Three; 
A dusty column of marching men 
All tattered and bearded, but — home again! 
And there, to greet him from war's alarms, 
A babe — your mother! — in grandma's arms, 

Little child! 



MA'S BOY. 

HIS lovin' task is finished now! Fer nigh t' forty- 
year 
He 's what y' might called anchored to this quarter 

section here! 
With nary thought o' leavin' home, ner wanderin' 

very fur — 
He could n't seem t' bear the thought of ever leavin' 

her, 
'Twell fun'rel was — an' burrit her — an' naybors' 

wimmin come 
T place the chairs an' air the house an' tidy of it 

some; 
He pegged the latch an' shet the blinds an' faced the 

settin' sun 
An' wandered down 01' County Road — his lovin' task 

was done! 

Fer forty years he 's staid behind whilst all the others 

went, 
An', more 'n that, it alius seemed that he was plum 

content 
T stay behind an' let 'em go; "Blamedon," he used 

t' say, 
"There 's some one got t' stay with ma until she goes 



away!' 



118 



Ma's Boy 119 

An' here he staid an' worked fer her, an' kumpny fer 

her, too — 
Like me an' you an' others of us prob'ly would n't do ! — 
An' tromped a hundred miles I s'pose — er mebbe 

more — t' git 
Arbutuses er mandrake bloom t' cheer her up a bit. 

An' more 'n half our county gals hev set their caps fer 

him, 
But law-my-law, they give it up on seein' jist how slim 
Their chances was, an' heerd him say he "guessed he 

would n't do 
No marryin' whilst mother lives" — an' liked him fer 

it, too! 
An' did n't do no marryin' — ner even court — because 
He alius seemed t' 'predate jist what his duty was; 
He cared fer her as faithfully an' tenderly, yes s-i-r, 
As what she cared for him when he was helplesser 

than her! 

His lovin' task is finished now! He 's faced the 

settin' sun 
On County Road an' gone away, like all the others 

done 
Long years before, with nary thought of what they 

railly owed 
To her as "watched their smallest want" an' nursed 

'em 'til they growed; 
It 'pears t' me he's startin* jist when others gittin' 

through, 
An' goin' t' find it mighty hard an' mighty awk'ard, 

too; 



120 Ma's Boy 

An' yit I 've got abidin' faith that she who 's gone 
Above 

Will he'p him with her mother- prayers an' thankful- 
ness and love! 



A DREAM. 

LAST night I dreamed — such a bitter dream! 
The house was hollow and sad and still, 
The blinds were closed to the golden gleam 

Of the morning sun, and the heavy chill 
Of recent sorrow was all about — 

The flowers and all bespoke the gloom — 
Our friends crept stealthily in and out, 

And some one sobbed in another room! 
When all had left and the silence grew, 

I crept alone to our romping place 
Where truant beams came wandering through 

And lighted the smile on a little face. 

To-day I waked! Oh, the world was still! — 

And all of the light of my life gone out, 
And love and its promises vanished, 'til 

I heard the children, their laugh and shout, 
Their noisy greetings, and faces bright 

Played peek-a-boo in my doorway, then 
I knew it was all but a dream last night, 

And life and love were the same again ! 
To-day I 've toiled with a better cheer — 

With lesser care how my fortune fares — 
With greater thought of my blessings here, 

And greater thanks for the love He spares. 

121 



AUGUST DAYS. 

SOMETHING in the August haze calls the aim- 
less rover 
Back along the beaten ways that skirt the crimson 
clover, 
Back where childhood used to dream 
Over many a fairy theme — 
Back to lie beside the stream and dream the old 
dreams over. 

Back to lie upon the banks, and see the sky-fleece 

skipping 
Overhead in endless ranks, and watch the kingbird 
dipping- 
Hear the bees among the flowers — 
Birds a-chatter in their bowers — 
Heedless of the idle hours, slipping — slipping — slip- 
ping— 

Back to stand upon the hills where August's harvest 

measure 
Stands in golden shocks and spills its hoard with reck- 
less pleasure; 
Back where August, drunk with wine, 
Listless with excesses fine, 
Begs a helping hand of mine to stow away her treas- 
ure. 

122 



August Days 123 

Something in the August haze makes a man to ponder, 
August's golden harvest days bid him cease to wan- 
der — 
Bid him from the world of men, 
From the world of Now to Then — 
Back to friends and home again, and harvest fields off 
yonder ! 



THE FAILURE. 

THAT man has failed? 
So I have heard, 
But, note you, those who pass him by- 
All greet him with a friendly word 
And wish him well, and meet his eye 

With friendly glance. It seems to me 
In all Life's lack of friends, and stress 

Of woe, to have such friends must be 
The highest form of real success. 

That man has failed? 

Well, even so — 
We '11 grant that sordid gold has not 

Poured out on him in ceaseless flow, 
Nor fame or glory been his lot ; 

But still he loves each bud that grows 
And reads the message that it brings — 

We cannot say he 's failed, who knows 
And understands these little things. 



124 



11 KETCHUP." 

WHILST rollin' 'round the city streets in my new 
auto car 
An' puttin' on a lot of lugs like poets alius are 
That 's moved t' town an 1 got a job, there 's heaps o' 

things that come 
T' feller's eyes an' ears an' nose that make him think o' 
hum. 

Like yisterday on Avenoo, when sudden-like my nose 
Jist caught the smell o' sumthin' sweet as enny 

climbin' rose — 
It wa'n't perfume ner nuthin' else that 's ennywise 

akin — 
'T was straight from some one's kitchen where they 's 

ketchup bilin' in! 

I s'pose it come from some place of the "'partment 

dwellin'" sort, 
Where folks ain't got a kettle that '11 hold above a 

quart ; 
An' where they call it "catsup," which it alius seemed 

t' me, 
Profaned this tasteful product as 't was never meant 

to be! 

125 



126 M ftetcHup " 

An* yit I 'm mighty thankful for the smell of it that 

come 
T make me think o' mother an* September days at 

hum — 
It took me back t' Swazy 'fore I growed t' be a man, 
An' mother made her ketchup on a hullsale sort o' 

plan. 

I recollect her method an' I really ain't no right 

Witbholdin' from my fellow-men a thing of sich de- 
light: 

You choose the best termaters that the hired he'p kin 
find 

An' bile 'em in a kettle of the " opulenter" kind. 

An' then y' got t' strain it an' again y' bile it down, 
An' throw a bag o' spices in an' slosh 'em all aroun', 
An' keep a-bilin' of it 'twell it 's good an' proper 

thick, 
Then bottle it an' cool it off — an 1 run an 1 hide it quick! 

Ah, trimmin's fitten for a King! Why, tellin' of it 

here 
Jist fairly takes me back again fer all o' twenty year, 
Afore I ever dreamed o' town, er smoked a good 

seegar, 
Er ever et in restaraws — er drove an auto car! 



THE VOID IN TO-DAY. 

THE sun is shining just as bright, 
The flowers blooming just as sweet, 
The lilt and laughter just as light 
As ever in the village street. 

The friendly doors are open wide, 
With little children there at play — 

The ones I romped and walked beside 
And loved and coddled yesterday. 

The heart of youth beats just as fast, 
With just as much of lilt and rhyme — 

The shadows are the same that cast 
Across my path last even'time. 

The merry world it bowls along 
Upon its strange, mysterious way, 

A half in sorrow, half in song, 
The same to-day as yesterday. 

And yet — and yet — there's something gone! 

A happy smile, a bit of cheer, 
A friendly word to spur me on 

I listen for and cannot hear. 

127 



128 The Void in To-day 

His friendly door to-day is crossed 
With sombre black of grim portend, 

And Silence whispers I have lost 
God's rarest gift to man— a friend! 



AN OLD MAN SAID: 

YOU don't know as well as me 
How your blessin's scatter — 
You ain't old enuff, y' see, 

Prob'ly that 's the matter. 
Prob'ly that 's the reason you 

Have sich happy hours, 
Thinkin' all the skies are blue, 

All the world is flowers. 
Bimeby perhaps you '11 be 

Lonesomer an' sadder, 
And without a friend, like me, 

Only jist your shadder. 

Shadders is the closest friends 

Not exceptin' brothers — 
Never fools y' nor p 'tends 

Like the most the others; 
Alius with y' hand in hand 

Fair or stormy weather — 
Alius struck me kind o' grand 

How we stick together! 
When you 're mad and argify 

Gittin' mad and madder, 
Still there 's one a-standin' by — 

That '11 be your shadder! 
9 129 



130 An Old Man Said 

Once I had a special friend — 

Jist a common fiddle, 
Bows upon her curlin' end, 

Ribbons 'round her middle; 
Lawsey, how I sawed her strings, 

"Trainin Day" and "Crown Me," 
" Dixie Land" and lots o' things 

Coaxin' friends around me ! 
Xow she 's hushed! I could n't play 

Even if I had her, 
And the friends have gone away, 

All excep' my shadder! 

Once the childurn used t' climb 

'Round my chair an' hug me, 
Beggin' me for bits of rhyme — 

Wool me 'round and tug me. 
Xow they Ve gone and they 've forgot 

All them oldtime glories, 
Fiddle songs and, like as not, 

All them rhymes and stories — 
Gone away a-leavin' me 

Lonesomer and sadder, 
All alone excep' for — see! 

There it is! — my shadder! 



AN OLD SAYIN' OF MOTHER'S. 

THE older that a body gits 
The better, seems t' me, 
He reckolects the folks an' jokes 

An' things that used t' be; 
Like other night, whilst settin' there 

An' rompin' through the years, 
An' driftin' on the back'urds way, 
I swan, I heerd my mother say: 
"Go wash yer neck an' ears!" 

It took me back fer forty years, 

An* I'sa boy again, 
With same dislike fer water that 

Was natural to me then; 
I seemed t' feel my speerit rise, 

An' feel my boyish tears 
A-rollin' down in same ol' way, 
Like when my mother used t' say: 

"Go wash yer neck an' ears!" 

Clean neck an* ears, you reckolect, 

Was purt' nigh disgrace — 
There wa'n't no sense in washin' 'cept 

Perhaps a body's face! 
131 



A.n Old Sayin* of MotHer's 

We used t' think that mas was made 

To add to boyish keers, 
A:;' stand around in bossin' way, 
When boys was :ireies:. an' say: 

'"Go rr neck an 1 ears! 

An' yit I '11 warrant that to-night 

You 'd like t" go to bed 
In same ol' room, with locust bloom 

A-droppin* overhead 
On shingle roof, an' hold yer breath 

With all your boyish fears, 
An' hear yer mother softly neei 
£ - ; t iirs an' ask y ' : " Gone to sleep ? — 

Did y' wash yer neck an' ears?" 



DECORATION DAY AT SWAZY. 

BLEEDLV-HEART" an' "snowball" time alius 
takes me back a spell — 

'Minds me when the army wuz, an* all them "Buck- 
tail" boys that fell 

Fightin' in the Wilderness front o* Spots-yl-van-i-a, 

Slashin' on t'ords Richmond in that keerless, reckless 
sorter way 

"Bucktails" had all durin' the war, that made 'em 
sich a rickord; then 

Mind the day the}' brung 'em back t* Swazy there — 
an' home again! 

Last o' May, it wuz, an' God fair seemed t' glorify 
them parts — 

Jist the time of "snowball" bloom, an' violets an' 
"bleedin'-hearts," 

Mind it jist like yisterday! It seemed they wa'n't a 

house in town 
Did n't have its shutters drawed an* tears an' crepe a- 

st ream in' down, 
Mournin' fer the dead within, fathers, brothers — t 

an' men — 
Heroes, if they 'd had the chanct, would gone an' done 



the same again! 



133 



134 Decoration Day at Swazy 

Did n't waste much tears them times, ner do much 

sorrowin', becuz 
Sorrowin' wuz common then, an' tears the cheapest 

things that wuz ! 
Laid the boys in Swazy there, where all had played 

their simple parts 
'Fore the war, an' kivered 'em with "snowball" 

bloom an' "bleedin'-hearts." 

"Bleedin'-heart" an' "snowball" time! It means a 

heap more now than then! 
Seems like Swazy fokes jist wait fer springtime when 

they bloom again; 
Seems like they jist cherish 'em an' rear 'em up with 

tender care 
Hopin' that they '11 breathe their love on all them 

"Bucktails" sleepin' there! 
Fifty years ain't made no odds, if anything them 

flowers grow 
Sweeter now than what they did when war-times wuz, 

so long ago — 
Long about the last o' May Nature uses all her arts, 
Seems t' me, in paintin' 'em — the "snowball" bloom 

an' "bleedin'-hearts." 

Decoration Day cums on, I swan, no matter where I 

be, 
Close my eyes an' reckolect ol' Swazy days an' I kin 

see 
Same old pay-rade formin' there beneath the spreadin' 

maples' shade, 
Headed by "Old Ned," the hawss Cap Crawford 

caught on Early's raid; 



Decoration Day at Swazy 135 

Or man Putnam, he cums next, fifin' in his quaint ol' 

way 
'Zackly like he fifed the boys from there to Spots- yl- 

van-i-a ! 
Then the village folks cum next a-playin' of their 

lovin' parts, 
Souls plum full o' love an* tears an' arms piled up with 

"bleedin'-hearts!" 



"JIST ABOUT NOW." 

" TIST about now" is the time I mean, 

\J When August dozes an' slips her hold — 
Trees sort o' weary of stayin' green 

An' switch their colors to red an' gold; 
Jist on the line betwixt summer an' fall, 

When harvest comes an' the thrashers run — 
Time when the fields go to rest, for all 

'S if they 're wore out with the work they Ve 
done. 

"Jist about now" when the only thing 

A man regrets is he was n't built 
Winged, with feathers, t' fly an' sing 

A song of praise like a whipperwilt, 
Pee- wee bird or a common crow — 

An' nuther one of 'em sings a lot ! 
Yet they sing so 's 't the Lord '11 know 

They 're doin' their best with the tools they 've 
got! 

"Jist about now," when the dreams y' dream, 
The thoughts y' think an' the things y' see 

Lookin' back through the years, all seem 
Sweeter, lots, than they used t' be; 
136 



"Jist About Now" 137 

11 Jist about now," when your mem'ries start 
An' lead y' back'urds with willin' feet — 

Time that mellers a feller's heart 

Like summer mellers a "punkin sweet.' ' 

"Jist about now" is the time I mean, 

But pin me down an' — well, I '11 confess 
August, draped in her gold an' green 

Ain't nothin' extry for loveliness ; 
Any time o' the year is prime — 

December, May, an' the rest — I 'low 
Any time that y' sing a rhyme 

It fits the best to the theme of Now! 



ENFORCED FRIENDSHIP. 

IS 'POSE the run of people are constructed some like 
me, 
A-findin' fault and grumblin' at everything they see, 
An* wishin' this an' t' other thing was more like so an' 

thus 
As we 'd allowed t' make it if He 'd left the job t* us. 

But lately I Ve been thinkin' an' a-weighin' "pro" an* 

con, 
An' eyein* Life perspective-like, without no glasses 

on, 
An' I 've about concluded that I 'd orto change my 

gait, 
For Life is crowded more with love than what it is with 

hate. 

Now Hiram Smeed I never liked, an' could n't stand 

like some 
Who overlook a feller bein' Presbyterium, 
But when I had the ager an' the yeller janders too, 
I 'm dogged if Hiram was n't jist the man t' pull me 

through ! 

Nor Henry Carver was n't no espeshul friend o' mine, 
For bein' Democratic wa'n't adzackly in my line, 
But when the Sheriff levied an' I sort o' lost my ho't, 
'T was Henry Carver helped me by a-backin' up my 
note! 

138 



Enforced FriendsHip 139 

An' Peter Scott 's another that I never liked — don- 
blame 

His picture! I was Union side an' he against the 
same — 

When my ol' war wound opened I could stood it, yes 
sir-e-e-e — 

If that ol' rebel had n't whittled crutches out for me ! 



A SURE CURE FOR GENERAL DEBILITY. 

WHEN a feller 's all stove up 
Physically, just hangin' on 
Tooth an' nail, an' wishin' he 's 
Either well or dead an' gone, 
Then it alius coaxes back 

Feller's youth an' feller's smile, 
Jist t' take a pole an' fish 

Up an' down ol' Twenty-mile. 

Dig his angleworms hisself — 

Extry fat — an' cut a pole, 
Then steal off an' head for some 

Old established fishin' hole — 
Through the wheatfield, shoulder deep, 

Where the larks an' swallows skim, 
T'ords the crick where troubles an' 

Aches an' pains won't foller him. 

Scramble up ol' grassy banks — 

Down 'em, too — an' wade the run, 
Things a man with roomatiz 

Had n't orter never done ! 
Straddle logs an' crawl around 

Under snags, an' in an' through — 
Things an ablebodied man, 

Sound an' healthy, could n't do! 
140 






A. Sure Cure for General Debility 141 

Set beside some hole an' fish 

Half the day, a-feelin' prime, 
More than half asleep, without 

Bait ner nothin' half the time! 
Not a fish, as like as not! — 

Mebbe not a bite, but, look, 
See the old-time memories 

Nosin' 'round the feller's hook! 



'•TYFOID-BLUES." 

IX the little black satchel Doc Folinsbee kep* 
Beside him wherever he went, 
There was some pill or powder for everything 'cep' 

The one that Doc couldn't invent! — 
"This here one *s for janders and that one for chills,' 

He 'd tell us, u an' that one for fun; 
I 'low I Ye got some sort o' powder or pills 

For everything goin' — 'cept one" 
Then he^'d sort o' square off in his hull-hearted way 

An* air his perfessional views, 
"Our science," says he, "cures everything most, 
Exceptin', perhaps, it 's an* allfired dost 

Of ol'-fashioned tyf oid-blues ! " 

The s}*mptoms there 's no one on earth kin explain- 
There 's no one on earth seems t' kno 

Your grumblin' stands at a hundred an' ten, 
An' your speerits drop sixty belc 

It seems t' be more than your heart kin endure, 
This bendin' your back to the rod, 

An' then 'fore y' know you git cussed an' you 're 
Disputin' contentment with God! 

There 's nothin' around y' seems anyway bright, 
An' trubbles surround y' by twos — 

142 



44 Tyfoid-Bliaes " 143 

You 're 'fraid that you 're dyin' then afraid that 
ain't, 

An' livin', itself, seems t' be a complaint — 
That 's ol'-fashioned tyf oid-blues ! 

I ain't never had 'em but once in my day, 

An' then when I visuted Sue — 
Our dorter 'ats marrit — an* she 's livin' way 

In Pontiac, Michigan, too! 
I stood it first rate over Sunday an' then 

I found I had trubble t' sleep, 
An' kep' gittin' worse 'til I 'd give up a ten 

T' hear Myra's ginny hens "cheep!" 
I packed up my satchel an' hit 'er for home 

An' dropped Sue a pustal: "Excuse 
This writ in' an' hurry, I know that it 's not 
A fatherly partin', but, dorter, I 've got 

The ol'-fashioned tyfoid-blue^ 



AN ANNIVERSARY. 

SIGNS of Aprile comin' on — 
Runnin' sap an' them blamedon 
Robins chirpin' seems t' cheer 
Feller's heart an' inn'ards here! 
What y' might call happy-sad 
Days of mem'ries bad an' glad, 
Plungin' country nayborhoods 
Into reminiscint moods 
With their dadburned magic! Law, 
Just last evenin' paw an' maw 
Set an' talked there, head-t'-head, 
When the rest had gone t' bed; 
Only ketched a word or so 
" — That was fifty years ago!" 

"Fifty years — " an' then looked down 
On that button, rusty brown, 
On his vest he alius wears — 
"Braden Post, the G. A. R's."— 
Wizzen choked an' eyes growed dim — 
Maw was purt' nigh proud as him! 
Then they both looked in the blaze 
Conjurin' up fergotten days 
Like enuff , like old folks does — 
Days of when the army was ; 
Paw t' see the fight again, 
Charge an' rush that he saw then — 

144 



-An Anniversary 145 

Don't know what maw's thoughts was of, 
Fears, perhaps, an' soldier's love. 



Fifty years ago! Why she 
'Cordin' to her age — would be 
Just about like buds in May — 
Timid buds that sort o' lay 
Wishful-like, then bust in bloom 
Drenchin' things in sweet perfume; 
War nigh bruk her heart, an' yet 
Thro wed some roses, dewey-wet, 
At him when he marched away — 
"First real wound! 11 he used t' say! 
Draped his musket with 'em, too — 
Watched him 'til he shrunk from view, 
Then went home dry-eyed an' hid 
Grief like wimmin mostly did. 

Fifty years, an' now they 're gray! — 
Hand in hand they 've gone their way, 
Fought their fights an' mostly won 
Like paw's reg'mint alius done! — 
Shared their luck of every sort 
Like good comrades alius ort. 
Guess they 've earned their right to set 
Talkin' things they can't ferget; 
Yes, an' wa'n't I glad last night 
That the spell was 'zackly right — 
Glad there wa'n't nobody near, 
No one there t' interfere — 
Glad the clock ticked soft an' slow, 
'Count of fifty years ago! 
10 



KITCHEN INTERRUPTIONS. 

(This bein' about the way things sound when ma 
is bakin' an' Missus Granby jist draps in t' git a re- 
ceipt fer frostin', an' the childern are hangin' 'round 
the kitchen table sort o' hankerin'-like.) 

WELL, first I take sugar — leetle more 'n a cup — 
"Mo, kin I lick the dish?" 
An' half cup o' water an' stir 'em both up — 

"Ma, kin I lick the dish?" 
In stewpan or sumthin', an' boil 'twell they 'hair' 
Like boiled sugar does, takin' plenty of care 
T' see it don't burn like it 's apt t' do — There ! 
Now hain't you done it ! i" wish 

You young' uns behaved I An' then take the whites — 

" Ma, kin I lick the dish?" 
Of couple of eggs an' beat the daylights — 

"Ma, kin I lick the dish?" " 
Out o' them 'twell you 're tired, an' stir sugar in 
An' add your vanilly an' stir it agin — 
Be keerful, Mis' Granby, don't git it too thin! — 

"Ma, kin I lick the dish?" 
. . . Sh-h-h-h 

"Ma, kin I lick the dish?" 



146 



DIVINE SERVICE. 

THERE was n't a sound of an organ note, 
But up in the elms was a yeller bird 
That raised its head an' it swelled its th'oat 
In as sweet a chime as I ever heard; 
The woods woke up an' the chipmunks chirred 
Forever an' all like they limned the hymns 
For them that come fer the gospel word 
An' tuk their pews on the lowest limbs. 

The blackbird first with his long-tail coat 
An' fancy vest with its store-made fit — 

The oriole with his yeller th'oat, 

The lark an' th'ush an' the gray tom-tit — 
An' then the crow — he 's a hippercrit, 

Ari holds that stealirC 's the best o' jokes! — 
An' then the sparrows crep' in an' sit 

T'gether, fer all like the humble folks ! 



The meetin' started, o' course, with song — 

"The timbrel call" as the Baptist says — 
A sort of melody, loud an' strong, 

That filled the world with the Father's praise; 

An' then, as in keepin' with holy days, 
The choir stopped an' there come a hush, 

An' God spoke out through the silent ways 
From His pulpit hid in the hawthorn brush. 

i47 



148 Divine Service 

An' oh the sermon I heard that day! 

A sermon straight from the shoulder, square, 

That teached the gospel of Love, I say, 
'Twell Presbyteriums can't compare — 
Ner Baptists nuther! — and I declare 

It made me penitent, yes sir-e-e-e, 

T' think, that of all of the faithful there, 

The only sinner of all was me! 




© 
© 

.52 

© 

C/5 

<5D 
52 

U. 



•52 



THE WEARINESS OF CHILDHOOD. 

IT is so very, very far 
From breakfast time to Fast Asleep! 
The mountains in the orchard are 
So very, very high and steep! 

The fences that I cannot climb 

I have to go around to play, 
And that 's so very far, sometime 

I fear that I shall lose my way! 

The water in the horses' trough 

Is like the ocean blue to me, 
With apple blossoms sailing off — 

It tires one to watch the sea! 

When mother calls me in from play 
And tells me I must wash and go 

An errand, that 's so far away 

I guess that you could never know! 



The kitchen steps are high for me — 
The cookie jar is up so tall ! — 

They did n't mean that they should be 
For little folks like me at all. 
149 



150 THe Weariness of Childhood 

And when I go to bring the cow 
I have to go so far that then 

The sun, that shines so brightly now, 
Is gone when I get back again. 

So when you stop to think of it — 
How tiny are our steps, and slow — 

It is n't strange, a single bit, 
That little children tire so ! 



ANALOGY. 

AWAKE with the day and a smile at the sun, 
A moment of play and then toiling begun; 
A failure at first and then a success — 
A moment of pleasure and one of distress — 
A plenty of work and a little of play 
Is all of the sum of a joyous day; 
Then weariness comes with the darkness, and then 
Good-bye to the striving and — home again. 

A babe in the world of myst'ry untold, 
A moment of love and a childhood of gold — 
An end to the pathway to manhood's estate — 
A challenge to Fortune, a battle with Fate — 
A plenty of pleasure, a little of pain — 
A little of loss and a plenty of gain — 
The coming of Age and its weariness, then 
Good-bye to the living and — Home again! 



151 



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HECKMAN 
BINDERY INC. 

s^ JAN 89 



N. MANCHESTER, 
INDIANA 46962 







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